


Starstuck

by MrsMess



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Groundhog Day, Kissing, Literati, Love, Sex, Sort Of, Time Loop, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 23:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMess/pseuds/MrsMess
Summary: ”How many identical days will have to pass before Rory Gilmore starts raising some hell?”Groundhog Day au on Nag Hammadi is Where They Found the Gnostic Gospels.





	Starstuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fayevalcntine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayevalcntine/gifts).



> This fic would not exist if not for fayevalcntine.  
> Come see me on tumblr: missismess.  
> Content warning: This fic, like the Bill Murray movie, contains a suicide attempt and kind of a casual attitude towards the same. It takes liberties with geography, science, literature, a famous landmark, and certain religious practises, not to mention the very fabric of reality. It also contains bad words. Hope you enjoy it.

#  **I**

She stands, looking after the car as it disappears down the street - definitely breaking the speed limit - words in it’s slipstream like leaves. He drives. His own unspoken and her outspoken words still mingling together and ringing in his ears, no note, nothing, what do you have to say to me? Too much. He turns on the cassette player. Her throat is sore. She swallows, she must’ve been louder than she thought, people are looking. Chris Cornell howls through the crappy speakers; I woke the same as any other day, you know I should have stayed in bed. A sound climbs out of her, but turns to vapor as it exits. Their relationship reenacted in two minutes, ending the same way as it did the first time. He’s too warm, burning up, cracks a window, mumbles to himself when the music isn’t enough to block it out. Where is he headed? (Go back!) Anywhere but here. He keeps leaving, without staying away. (Just stand still!) What is the definition of insanity again? She bites her lip, blinks decisively. At least he’s gone. So much easier to ignore. He steps on the gas. She gets back in line. Tomorrow is another day.

 

#  **II**

The second time it happens she doesn’t know it’s the second time. She just thinks it’s a case of deja vu. A really bad one. But hey, what does she know? Her life is pretty chaotic these days, none of her past order seems to be applicable to Yale and her life there, and her diet is different, and she never did do the ice cream and wallowing thing when he left, because, no time, and maybe later she was too stubborn to, she’ll be the first to acknowledge it if she has to. But does she have to? There’s just no time in her life for the nervous breakdown she might deserve. Better to just pretend it’s all normal to be able to guess really accurately what Babette is about to say next, and to think “he’s gonna be in there” before entering Weston’s and for him to then actually be in there. She feels her response to words he hasn’t spoken yet swell in her chest before she even turns to see him, like she’s had time to consider it and curse herself for her impaired l’esprit de l’escalier, and he mumbles: 

“I’m leaving.” 

But he doesn’t look entirely convinced, his motions hesitant, and she immediately snaps: 

“Oh really? What a surprise!” 

And he gets up and legs it, and she feels oddly unsatisfied, despite having fantasized about having her mother’s wit and speed so many times. 

It’s a small town, and he’s on her mind from spotting him in the car yesterday and - oh god don’t let her lose her mind. This freak show goes on all day. In her head that is. She thinks she keeps it together pretty well because not even Lorelai seems to notice. It’s all just in her head. Obviously. Because then he shows up while she’s standing in line, like she sort of knew he would, but she had to prove herself wrong and went anyway, and he chases after her while she’s running away like they’re ten years old, and she’s running not necessarily to get away from him but to beat him to any finish line. When did you learn to run like that? What a question, I just watched you and finally took a lesson. He doesn’t ask it this time though, so she doesn’t get to say that, she just stops and loses it in the most predictable way and demands he tells her what he has to say to her. I love you. It’s a reverse echo in her head, she finds herself expecting it, but instead he looks as though she’s slapped him and just backs away, without saying anything at all. Right. And she’s the one who has that phrase, as well as his wretched face stuck in her head. All in her head. All in her stupid heart.

 

To him it seems more like a nightmare, and it wouldn’t be the first time for them to be this vivid, this detailed, and for them to center around the worst day for months wouldn’t be all that surprising either; those are the days worth having nightmares about. In the first dream he’s sort of in a sleepwalking state, repeating what he did before he fell asleep, but then she confronts him and he already knows what’s going to happen; He’s gonna blurt out that he loves her, because for whatever it’s worth - probably nothing - he does, and he has to tell her, because it’s been clawing a hole through his chest since he left, or even before that to be honest, and she’s going to get that look on her face that tells him everything; it’s too late. And he’s going to run, but just before turning he’s going to see her face shift to disbelief, despite everything, like she expected more, but he’s leaving, again, so, good riddance. He knows it, so he doesn’t tell her anything, has nothing to say to her, leaves before he makes it worse. He falls asleep in his car, or at least he thinks he does, but then the nightmare continues. 

 

#  **III**

The same day dawns again and he braces himself before remembering; normal dream rules don’t apply, he can actually control his actions, so he skulks around to see the dream unfold without him. He sees her go into Weston’s, into the bookstore, and stand in line, like she’s supposed to, but it’s not exactly the same; she’s looking around herself warily as if something is wrong, while nobody else acts that jittery. Seems she knows the dream too, but is choosing to act it out awkwardly but according to script, to stay in frame. His chuckle is stifled by the fact of course she would, while he would just leave the frame all together, and in that moment he knows exactly how she behaved after he left, doing what she’d planned to, as if he’d never been there at all. He shakes his head, Rory on the brain, just like Lorelai said. He gets in his car and drives away as soon as he can, drives into the night, keeps going, doesn’t even bother pulling over to sleep because this is all just a dream anyway, and then, seemingly seamlessly, the dark highway gets just a little darker, and he’s back in Stars Hollow and the day starts all over again. It’s not a nightmare; it’s real.

 

#  **IV**

By the fourth time she relives the same day she’s forced to admit that something’s wrong. 

With her. 

Oh god, she has lost her mind. She doesn’t dare to tell her mother because it’s going to be one of those things where once you get up the nerve to ask for help it’ll be obvious that you never really needed the help you were asking, hoping for, what you needed was a shrink. It would be Lorelai’s parental duty to have her committed, and, as she’s already made clear to herself, she simply has no time for that. But, she has to tell her mother, because she has to, so she does, kind of, carefully prodding the subject in terms of her feeling different and does Lorelai, possibly feel the same? Has she noticed anything strange? Experienced some deja vu?

“Have they made a change in the Matrix?” Lorelai asks, and Rory knows she’s on her own.

Lorelai is completely unfaced, normal, if you disregard that she’s been on repeat for days. But nevertheless; Lorelai Gilmore is her guidepost for everything. It’s comforting in a way that she never could have anticipated to just follow suit. Just keep going. Nothing, nothing, changes, and insanity seems to be an okay price to pay for it. And it’s not just her mother, everyone acts the same. She tries calling Paris and makes the mistake of asking what day it is, that conversation goes on for way too long, she learns her lesson. Everyone does what they’ve done before, except Jess. She hasn’t seen him for - what are you supposed to call them? Times, rounds, cycles? - Well, two of ‘em anyway. She decides to look into it before everybody finds out she’s lost her marbles. 

 

#  **V**

The next time the day starts up she goes to Gypsy’s, but his car isn’t there. Gypsy hasn’t heard from him but swears she’ll overcharge him like she’s never overcharged anyone before if he shows up. She walks to Luke’s instead of Weston’s and the car is there alright, with Taylor right by it, staring disapprovingly at it, checking the meter and his watch, like he’s waiting for it to run out. She braces herself and goes into the diner, she’s picked a pretty good time, in between breakfast and lunch and there are just a couple at a table and an old guy at the counter. Luke looks up at her, wary as he’s been when they’re alone for about a year. He thinks she doesn’t notice, or maybe doesn’t know he’s doing it, and either way it’s okay, none of this is his fault. It’s clearer today than it has been for a while, that expression of his, he must know what this is about. 

“Hey Rory.”

“Hi Luke.” She taps her nails on the counter a couple of times before diving into it. “Is Jess around?”

“You want some coffee?”

He’s stalling. She accepts anyway.

“Sure.” 

He pours her a cup and asks again. 

“Is he?”

“Afraid not.”

“But-”

“I know. The car’s here. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

She snorts.

“He’s not even here and everybody’s going crazy over it anyway.”

“Yeah, what else is new? People ‘round here are always nuts.” 

She takes a sip, but it just tastes bitter. He looks at her. 

“I thought for sure he’s stick around to fix it but he was gone this morning.” He adds.

Gone. He gets to go. She stands up and almost tips over her cup.

“Rory.” Luke tries, placatingly. “I was hoping he’d stay for a while too.”

“Well, I don’t hope for anything concerning him anymore.” She has to force her voice lower to keep it from trembling. “He can go wherever he wants and stay there as far as I’m concerned.”

She’s earned an outburst like that, she tells herself as she walks out, it’s been a long time coming, and by the way things are going it won’t even have happened by tomorrow, or the next today.

 

#  **VI**

Six. That’s six mornings waking up in the apartment above the diner. In between he’s magically disappeared from dark highways, from a motel room in New York, drunk out of his mind, and from a Greyhound Bus heading west. It has to stop. He has to get into the drastic measures.

So, he has himself committed. 

It’s probably for the best anyway. You’d think a place like Stars Hollow would have a looney bin, but no, he has to get on the bus to Hartford. Claiming to be reliving the same day over and over and that you’re gonna kill yourself unless it stops isn’t a lie, it’s the next thing he’ll try, he doesn’t even have dramatize it; apparently he’s sending off a vibe like he means it. The orderly seems unfaced by the severity of his statement however, and spends more time talking to her colleague about how that’s the plot to Groundhog Day. Once he’s locked up he’s calm. The panic over the two possibilities are cancelling each other out; He’ll either wake up in Stars Hollow again and he’ll just have to try raising the stakes, or he’ll still be here, and frankly, if that’s the case, he really needs to be. He sleeps better that night than he has in months. 

And wakes up in the apartment above the diner. 

 

#  **VII**

He takes the bus to New York again. On the ride he coldly thinks up ways to off himself. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it, but it is the first time he’s truly intended to. His mind makes up rules for it in case it sticks. Weighs the alternatives against each other as if it’ll make a difference, as if there’ll be one right way to do it in order to unlock the prison door. Holy shit. It’s the same goddamned principle as for the looney bin, either he’ll wake up at the diner or he’ll be gone, and if he is… maybe that’s for the best too. Geez. Enough ceremony, just get it done. But he has always liked the Brooklyn Bridge, it’s pretty, for something so ugly, so. 

When he stands there though… no note, no call, no word, nothing. Luke. Before he knows it he’s crying. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, walks back and mails a postcard to Luke’s diner, saying he’s sorry. If it sticks. Then back out there. 

He never would have thought it could be easy to walk out on the rails, but there it is; what he’s able to do once he puts his mind to something. 

 

#  **VIII**

When he wakes up again he considers trashing the apartment, the diner, fucking wreak havoc with as much as he possibly can, but can’t. Hurting yourself in as many creative ways as possible, that he can do, and if it was Liz, sure. But it’s not, it’s Luke. So he gets walking, heading nowhere. Cold and insane, but then he remembers something. It was Sartre who claimed hell is other people, but it sure doesn’t seem that way right now; to have just one person understand, or just one person knowing about it, that’s what he wants. 

Done all the damage there you're gonna, Luke said. His uncle is obviously missing the fact that sometimes there’s no such thing as a finite amount of damage to be done, and he, as well as the rest of this hell hole might love Rory Gilmore, but they are constantly underestimating her. Nonetheless, he gets what Luke meant of course, the last thing he wants is to hurt her. Again. But he’s certainly at the end of every other rope. So he turns around, and walks back to town. Still leaves the car though, ‘cause pushing it to Gypsy’s when it’ll just end up back at Luke’s might be the actual, more appropriate, definition of hell.

 

It’s been a week, whatever that means, when it’s all the same day. If time did move forward what would she be doing today? Cramming to get that paper done. But it’s just too weird to think about. She should probably use the day to work at it, if this could be deemed as extra time, but she’s already tried producing things; writing a note-to-self, it was gone when she woke up in her freezing room the next time, even if she remembers writing it. So she’s started reading copious amounts; it’s nothing outside the ordinary and it keeps her going to the bookstore for new books every day, but any notes you might make beside mental ones are gone once it all starts up again. 

She’s a little less panicked every day, but the panic over that makes up the difference. She’s been reading up on all sorts of psychological ailments but not once has she found anything like this, which is weird when you think about it, considering how much repetition, ritual, routine make up people’s lives, and what she has found… it’s just not good news. 

She tries to look on the bright side anyway. The day in question could be worse. Sure, everyone is all up in her business about Jess but at least he hasn’t been around since the first times. And she’s getting really good at handling the movements, dodging the awkward questions, staying clear of Kirk’s panicked yells over his walkie talkie, convincing Lane to leave the freezing house and go back to Yale in the best way possible. The hardest thing has been to acclimatize to the idea that nobody learns a thing, only she. A really sick part of her appreciates that, as well as the possibility for repetition, it enables her to strive for perfection in a very real way. Not that anyone’s noticing, instead it’s her private game. 

Anyway, she enters Weston’s, the fifth movement of the day, and orders her thing, and freezes as she sees him in the corner of her eye. He’s not reading, he’s just sitting, getting up, not mumbling, not getting out, but raising a hand in greeting. Now she turns to him, eyes wide. For a moment they both just stare at each other.

“I’m leaving!” She blurts and does. 

She walks fast, runs, to the edge of the block then turns around to see if he follows, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The encounter unnerves her plenty, is this how it’s gonna be from now on? Him popping up like Jack-in-a-box wherever? What are the rules? So much for repetition, not that that was ever applicable to him anyway, you never quite knew. And now she doesn’t know where he is, which means he could be anywhere. Worse. 

Back at Babette’s she might repeat that he’ll be gone soon more than twice, like the nutcase she is. 

She approaches the bookstore with care, can’t make out the inside from the outside, so she has to open the door. She doesn’t even say hi to Andrew, just looks straight into the store and spots him by a shelf. He’s just standing there, eyes on her. She turns on the spot and flees back to the house where she finds Luke boarding up the window, apparently grateful to get out of the company of his sister and her guy. 

The evening comes and plays out as expected, but her grandmother notices she seems absent-minded even if she is in a state of well-controlled panic herself. 

Back at the festival her mother sends her for hamburgers but she can’t take the chance, instead she winds up skulking behind the gazebo thinking of excuses. She’s just got one, when someone grabs her hand from behind. She turns and is face to face with Jess who holds onto her. She yelps and tries pulling from his grip. He holds up a bag and hands it over to her, hanging it on her wrist. She tears it open and there are two burgers inside. She tries to give it back to him.

“If you think one of these should be yours you got another thing coming!” She growls, feeling more than a little silly.

“I’m not looking for a date.” He says. “I just wanna talk to you for a minute.”

“What could you possibly have to say to me?”

He tilts his head.

“You really have no idea?”

She has a few, and she is curious, darnit, she’d be curious even if he wound up running away again, but she’s just so angry at him, and to be honest, at herself. She can’t allow herself the satisfaction of asking. Look where her curiosity landed her the last time.

“I really don’t care. I just want you to stay away from me.”

He presses his lips together, eyes somewhere between anger and desperation.

“Fine. How many days like this would it take before you’re ready to talk to me?”

“I don’t-” She starts before the words sink in. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“How many identical days will have to pass before Rory Gilmore starts raising some hell?”

Her mouth falls open when she gets it. And at that moment her mother calls her. She turns and sees Lorelai finding them with her eyes at the same time, fury climbing her face as she walks towards them.

“Shit.” He mumbles.

Rory looks to the bag in her hand and back to his face.

“Fine.” She manages. “If we’re still here tomorrow we’ll meet up at Weston’s. Get outta here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” And like that, he turns his back and leaves.

 

#  **IX**

He’s there early, picks up his book, mostly for show, can’t concentrate. She’s late. Possibly on purpose, it wouldn’t surprise him. He couldn’t blame her. Then she arrives, ordering the same thing she has every morning. Not looking at him. He can’t bring himself to mind. Because she’s here, with the intention of seeing him and talking to him. He watches her instead, until she turns to him. He gets up, to offer her either seat but she goes for the empty one anyway, sits down opposite him. She looks at him like she used to before they were together, troubled, vulnerable, a little angry about it. He’s about to speak, ease into it, but she interrupts him.

“I’ve read a lot. But that doesn’t really mean anything since I haven’t known which section to commit to.” 

He tries to speak again but she goes on:

“Like, mythology, physics, medicine, psychology…? Where would you even start?”

She taps her fingers on the surface of the table and sips her coffee, his is long since cold and black in his cup. He doesn’t attempt to speak anymore.

“How did you know that I-” She starts and immediately lowers her voice. “That it was happening to me?”

He shrugs.

“I didn’t really. You just, seemed a little offbeat, like you were waiting for something, looked like you do when you’re uneasy.”

“You took a shot?” She sounds a little disappointed.

“Basically.” 

She squints at him. He gestures defensively.

“What? It’s not like I care if people think I’m crazy either way, especially not now.”

She looks back at her coffee.

“You really don’t stir up trouble under any circumstances, do you?” He adds, can’t stop himself.

“Not if I can help it.” She shoots out her chin.

“Fair enough. I thought we’d start by telling what we’d tried to break outta this.”

She’s quiet.

”I’ll go first.” He adds.

“Be my guest.” 

She takes a bite of her danish and he has to look away to focus. Geez. How long has it been? His head is busy, starts counting; two years, three months, ten days, of him thinking about her every day, you’d think he’d be used to it by now, not so easily distracted. He clears his throat.

“I guess I’ve been dabbling in physics, mostly, been trying to leave in a bunch of ways, doesn’t work, I just wake up above the diner.”

“Not in your car?” Her eyes are inexplicably soft for a second. His breath hitches. He shakes his head.

“Luke left me the place, the key.”

She smiles, it’s like a ray of light, and a couple of miraculous seconds pass before she covers it up.

“Anyway.” He goes on. “I guess I’ve tried practical psychology too; I had myself committed, figured that’d scare me straight, I should probably go back to school next.”

She actually laughs at that. He hesitates, doesn’t want to tell her about the bridge, knows he kind of has to, just, wants to wait, not now, not yet.

“What else did you try?” He asks instead.

She’s silent.

“Tell me you tried something else besides reading!”

“Of course I did.” She hisses. “Just not something quite so epic, it doesn’t all have to be so drastic you know! More like if I could change just one tiny thing-” She takes a breathe. “But nothing stays changed. Notes I’ve taken, money i’ve spent, food I’ve eaten - I mean, just the implications of that - all back to how it was this morning every time.”

She sighs, a bit pale, sips her coffee. He stares at her, tries to get it without having to ask, but that’s probably his biggest fucking problem, not using actual words enough. If he’d just done that, he could have handled things so much better, he could’ve talked when he was supposed to, and kept his mouth shut when he was supposed to do that. 

“Why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Hit your marks. I mean, why haven’t you-”

“Because this isn’t real!” She blurts. “This can’t be real. It’s a dream somehow, or it’s a punishment, and if I do what I’m supposed to-”

“You get out early on good behaviour?”

She gets up, hands shaking. The cashier, who probably knows her and consequently of him - this town - sneaks a glance at them. He reaches out and grabs her hand anyway.

“Sorry. Sit down.”

Her eyes are desperate and it fucking hurts.

“Please.”

She sits down, but pulls her hand from his grip.

“Maybe that’s just the thing;” She mumbles. “Good behavior - maybe we have to serve years and just be good while not knowing anything about how long we have to stay.”

That’s her first thought and it would be. It almost sends him into a state of panic, but he takes a breath, at least he’s not alone.

“Or maybe it’s like some sort of Back to the Future scenario; if we upset things too much we’ll cease to exist-” She goes on and he has a distinct feeling she could continue further if he lets her.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He interrupts. “Whatever this is I don’t think conventional fields apply, we might have to get creative.” 

She nods.

“Speaking of which-” He says. “Did you consider the movie?”

“Of course I thought of the movie, I’m not an idiot. We watched it together last year, remember?”

“I remember renting it I just don’t remember seeing much of it.”

She blushes. He bites his lip. That was their most intense period, right before everything fell apart. They wouldn’t talk much, too busy being all over each other. Partly ‘cause they needed to be, he thinks, but he’s ashamed to admit that for him it was an escape also, something he couldn’t wait to hide inside. She clears her throat.

“Well, it might be time to do a rewatch sans... that.”

“Goes without saying.”

“Tomorrow?”

He sighs impatiently.

“Seriously, all we have is today.”

She presses her lips together.

“I’ll have to move things around.”

”Same things you’ll have to move around next time-” He interrupts himself, clarifies: ”-tomorrow.”

”I’ll have to think of excuses.”

He wants to tell her it’s useless, nothing matters, she could do whatever, and if there are consequences, they would just be welcome. But he can’t push her, she actually has the option of not helping him, ignoring him.

“Fine, next time. Let’s just hope the only copy isn’t checked out from the video store.”

She nudges her cup to his.

“Let’s.”

The coffee’s cold, but he drinks it anyway.

”And stay away from people ’til then.” She adds. ”Probably better for everyone.”

”Probably.”

 

#  **X**

She knows he’s right, obviously, it’s just, she’s so bad at lying to her mother, it’s a real problem, she should probably see someone about it if she ever gets out of here. But she also has a limited amount of excuses on this particular day. 

She has to study, she winds up saying, that always works. Fundraisers can go on for way longer than they should and she and Jess will be done before Lorelai comes back. Her head spins from seeing him, talking to him, and she loses track of time, doesn’t really know where she’s supposed to be, hasn’t matched the movements to particular times, but Luke comes over to fix the window and her mother gets ready and goes. 

Jess meets her at the video store but she tells him to wait outside. She walks inside and rents the damn thing. For a second she feels like laughing uncontrollably, but manages to keep it in. They don’t get any snacks, but the reflex is there; get snacks, get take out, but this is work, dammit. They go back to the house. She gets out notepads, and pencils. They wordlessly get on the couch, after she’s turned out as many light as possible to not attract any unexpected guests. It’s still cold albeit much less drafty in the living room and she pulls out blankets for them. 

When the opening credits roll she starts crying. It’s like turning on a faucet, just like that. In the corner of her blurry sight she sees him watching her from the other side of the couch, he’s still, his dark eyes on her, waiting for her to get it together. It stops, just as suddenly as it started. She sniffles, and runs the back of her hand over her wet cheeks.

“No thanks.” Says Bill Murray. “I’ve seen Larry eat.”

“God I hate him.” She says, voice thick.

Jess sighs.

“Yeah, me too.”

Nevertheless, they watch it. She takes notes, he hits pause on the VCR or talks over it when he has comments:

“Wait, not the god, but a god? What god would he be?”

“Does it matter? Probably Chronos, with the hiccups, definitely someone from greek mythology anyway.”

“And he explains that like, maybe gods aren’t omnipotent, maybe they’ve just been around for so long that they know everything. Sort of a Time Is On My Side-situation.”

“Yeah? What’s your point?” She hits pause. “You wanna get into the possibility that we’re gods? And even if we were it doesn’t matter, there are obviously limits to our powers.”

“Or we can’t control them-”

She rolls her eyes, he smiles. 

“But no, I don’t think it’s the first option we should explore.”

“Good to have that settled.” She plays the tape.

And later Jess picks up the remote hitting pause.

“So he gets to be this awesome guy, so what? It’s all so cack-handed, people worshiping him. Like a god, I might add.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, he goes on anyway.

“And how is he gonna have time for it all? Is he gonna bring everyone coffee and Danish?” 

She shrugs, sticks out her chin.

“Maybe he’s figured out that things are actually easier if you’re just nice to people.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“That probably depends on the people you’re supposed to cater to. Rita is very easy to please -”

”Is she though?”

”- And where’s the value of easy anyway? And is that the height of moral existence? Everybody else’s approval? 

She feels like arguing but can’t bring herself to, sighs instead.

“No.” 

“Thank you.”

“But it is a stupid comedy from the nineties, not some ancient text.”

“And yet it’s the plot we’re living.”

“Fine, can we watch it all the way through now?”

He plays it and they watch on. 

Then: The door. Lorelai. Early. Maybe she’s more needed at the fundraiser than she thought. Shoot. She turns her head just in time to hear the sound of her mother’s purse hitting the floor.

“Uhm…”

Double-shoot.

“Rory?”

“Hang on.” She fumbles for the remote control, to pause, not to miss anything. Turns around to see her mother frozen in the doorway.

“Jess.” 

It’s the saddest excuse for any greeting she ever seen from her mother, a disbelieving glare might match it as a description. He turns, faces her with his particular brand of stillness.

“Lorelai.”

“Rory, honey, can I talk to you for a minute?” She doesn’t take her eyes off Jess. “Alone.” She adds.

Rory stifles a sigh.

“Sure.” She gets up and follows her mother into the kitchen.

“Uhm, sweetheart, could you, possibly, maybe, try to explain to me what’s going on here?”

“We’re watching a movie.”

“Yeah. I can tell. It’s more the “we” I’m curious about.”

“Oh.”

“Right. That’s Jess on my couch. As late as yesterday you didn’t want to deal with him and now you’re hanging out watching movies. And weren’t you gonna be studying? What’ve I missed?”

She reaches for words, explanations that won’t prolong this conversation, but none comes to mind. Then something clicks and she feels profoundly stupid that she hasn’t thought about it sooner.

“Mom, I know this is weird, and I promise I’ll explain it properly to you tomorrow. But tonight I really need to finish watching this movie.”

“Groundhog Day?”

She nods her response. Lorelai shakes her head, hands out. Rory holds her ground. Finally her mother sighs.

“Fine, but if that’s the case I’m going to bed. I need it to be tomorrow as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. There are burgers in a bag in the hall, you take ‘em, I seem to have lost my appetite, but Rory-” 

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t gonna be one of those things when you’re suddenly magically back together with your ex after a night of conversation, and god forbid anything else, right?”

“Mom, no!” She gestures dramatically. “Different sides of the couch.”

“Right. Fool-proof. Just keep it that way.”

They walk back into the living room, Rory picks up the bag and puts it on the table, gets back on the couch and presses play. She picks up her notepad and pencil and holds them close to her chest. Lorelai grabs her purse and pinches it under her arm, slowly making an attempt to get up the stairs. She halts a few steps up, turns and stares at them, Rory can feel it even if she’s looking at the screen.

“You do know it’s supposed to be a comedy right?” Lorelai says.

“A black comedy.” Jess replies, dead serious.

Lorelai scoffs, the faintest of perplex smiles visible for a fraction of a second, then she turns and heads up the stairs.

The movie’s done soon after that, without her feeling particularly clear about anything. She still makes an effort to gain some. Jess has dug out a burger and is eating it on his side. She squints at her own notes.

“Hey, don’t you usually sell tickets on Groundhog day?” He asks between bites.

“Don’t really have time for that anymore.” She mumbles, more surprised than she’d like to admit that he remembers her absurd calendar. “But it was cancelled this year anyway - Gabby was sick.”

He stares at her.

“Gabby the groundhog.” She explains. “We borrow her from Woodbury.”

He shakes his head, smiles.

“It doesn’t matter!” She adds, frowning. “The tradition and movie have nothing to do with one another. We should focus on the latter.” She bites her lip and circles her first note, starts summarizing. “So, at first he starts exploiting people, it’s a game, then that’s not enough of a challenge so he goes for Rita, and when he can’t win with her - because she has actual standards - he tries killing himself and then, in a fit of desperation he tells her the truth, and that’s some sort of turning point because after that he kind of starts to try to better himself.” She taps her pencil on the paper. 

“But then there’s that part with the old guy dying.” Jess says, mouth full of food. 

“Yeah, I’m guessing that’s about accepting what you can’t change, or it might be a manifestation of the shift in him; to care about people who has no real impact on his life, or the surrendering of power, it’s a classic motif for greek dramas.”

Jess puts down the wrapper. 

“He’s in a position to manipulate the entire town if he should chose to, but he can’t stop the guy from dying, and he can’t make her love him.” He says.

“Yeah, and he starts making changes where he can-”

“Changing what you can’t accept.”

“-even if it’s just repeating all over again.” 

“Minimizing suffering.” He mumbles.

“Yeah, well, if you have an eternity even on a small patch of grass, you’re probably gonna start to maintain it at one point.” She hits the pad with the back of her pencil with increasing force. “It’s still not clear, but the only thing I can think is the betterment of the self.”

“So we should try to be better people.” 

There’s a pause.

“Right.” 

Another one.

“So, has everything been right side up in your life lately?” He asks.

She hesitates. 

“No, but that’s just school stuff-” She falls quiet.

“What school stuff?”

“Nothing really, it’s just-” 

Wow. Why is this so hard to admit to? She fixes her gaze at the wrinkled wrapper at the table to get the words out. 

“It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be, that’s all.” 

She looks at him, a bit apprehensive, but he meets her eyes steadily. 

“Everything around here is the same though, good.” She finishes.

“Is that what it is?” He says. 

“Yes!” She exclaims, annoyed. “How about you? Is everything okay in your life?”

He stares at her.

“Are you kidding?” He starts shaking his head, slowly. “Nothing in my life is okay. I’ve had time to pay real close attention lately.” He counts on his fingers; “Luke hates me, Liz has a new winner on the hook, I dropped outta school, my car broke down, I have no place to live, no steady job, I could go on. But I think it’s safe to say that a day isn’t gonna make a difference in any of these areas.”

He stops talking, but his voice, the tone of it, hangs around like smoke. She swallows, forces some sharpness to her response.

“So let’s not even try? Is that what you’re saying?”

He holds out his hands defensively.

“No, I’ll try anything.” He says. “But what are you supposed to be doing? I’m having a hard time believing the same rules apply to both of us.”

“Maybe I’m the observer. Maybe I can do research. There’s so much I haven’t even looked into yet. That’s the only thing I can think that would be my point for being aware of this, studying, since school is my only real issue lately.”

He looks skeptical for a second but seems to let it go.

“Fine.” 

He falls quiet, bites his lip. 

“Listen-” There’s a pause, like he’s hesitating. “-Can I stay on your couch? You know I’ll be gone in the morning.”

She wants to tell him no, but can’t help feeling a little excited over having him under the same roof, dangling the possibility of ramifications in front of her own starving mind.

“Nothing would make me happier than the non-existing chance of my mother finding you on her couch first thing in the morning.” She says frankly. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

 

#  **XI**

When he wakes up the next today he doesn’t get up and leave instantly like before. Being a better person has to start and end with Luke, that he’s sure of. He remains in bed for a while, listening for the kitchen, but it’s quiet. Eventually he gets up, gets dressed and walks downstairs. The diner’s empty, chairs up, no sign of Luke or Caesar despite it nearly being opening hours. A figure hovers by the entrance and he walks up to the door, unlocking it.

“Morning, Kirk.”

Kirk steps in, somewhat hesitantly.

“Where’s Luke?”

“Not a clue.”

“Will you be waiting on me?”

The instinct to tell him to get lost it is so natural it actually makes his skin tingle to hold it back.

“Sure. Have a seat.”

“The chairs are all up.”

“I noticed. Do they all have to be down for you to pick a table?”

“Probably not. But you have to understand that the place looks so different now, there are new factors to consider this way.” Kirk takes a few steps inside the room and looks around. “I guess sometimes you can’t see the diner for all the chairs.”

Jess shakes his head. Waits a few more seconds.

“So, you’ll let me know when you’ve made your decision?”

“Yes.” Kirk continues his exploratory walk through the diner.

Jess has just put on the first pot of coffee when the bell chimes and Caesar tumbles into the diner, immediately stopping in his tracks.

“Jess? You’re here?”

“Caesar? You’re not?”

“I overslept.”

“Well, I slept upstairs.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I was a surprise.”

Caesar walks in behind the curtain to hang his clothes, and comes out tying an apron around himself.

“As long as you’re here, mind making yourself useful while I get the kitchen going?”

“Already on it.”

Caesar disappears into the kitchen mumbling to himself.

“I’m so late.”

Jess prepares a second pot and ties an apron around his waist, then walks around the diner putting down the chairs.

“Hope this helps with your decision, Kirk.”

“You’d think, but really I just have to start all over.”

Another couple of other early customers show, and he serves them coffee. Then Luke arrives. Jess freezes, three plates in hands, and he and his uncle stare at each other for a second before he continues to Kirk’s table - the one by the door - and puts down his breakfast. Luke closes the door, and watches Jess serve the others their food, expression split between amusement and surprise, which usually shows as light irritation, he hates surprises. Jess ignores the look. On his way back to the counter Luke speaks.

“Hope you’re not expecting a paycheck.”

“Wouldn’t have occurred to me.”

“So you’re helping out simply out of the goodness of your heart?”

Jess bites the inside of his cheek. Luke might offer a lot of chances, but he certainly makes none of them easy to take. He wants to tell Luke that he’s only helping out because Caesar was late, but is pretty sure that would counteract that whole better person-thing. 

“Yes.” He says instead.

“Thought you couldn’t wait to fix your car and get outta here.”

He shrugs.

“I’ll do it tomorrow. Liz is in town, might as well catch up.”

“You wanna catch up with your mother?” Luke squints at him suspiciously.

Another shrug. Luke wags his finger at him.

“If you’re sticking around ‘cause of her, I really don’t think-”

“I’m staying out of her way.” He should really ask Rory to look into ethics as well, white lies for the greater good, how that might counteract betterment on a bigger scale, that kind of thing.

“Fine. If you’re so keen on helping out you can run out and get me this.” Luke pulls out a note from his pocket and hands it to him; It’s a list of things from different stores. 

Really, anything for this conversation to be over. Jess grabs the piece of paper, takes off the apron and pulls on his jacket. He thinks about the interaction as he walks, was he good enough? 

He thinks about the movie. To him the change seems superficial, and he finds himself wondering if he really believes in it, like in general, he’s seen so little of it actually happen, he’s been capable of so little himself, at least consciously. But maybe that’s how it happens, when you’re not looking. Maybe that’s why people are so into intentions, hearts in the right places and such. Or maybe it’s all external action that does it, doing the right thing even if you don’t really feel it. Maybe a combination. Maybe it’s all chaos theory. 

He passes by Weston’s just as Rory exits with her coffee and Danish, he stops himself from shaking his head and smiling with too much familiarity. Instead he salutes her with a wink as he passes her and she automatically raises her pastry holding hand in an awkward greeting. 

He runs his errands and returns to the diner as Liz and Luke are struggling over a peach pie. He nods at the both of them and ignores Liz’s enthusiastic greetings. For his life he can’t figure out how he’s supposed to be better with her. He was already trying, with the phone calls and the not biting her head off every time she speaks, the Thumper way: If you can’t say something nice don’t say nothing at all. He can’t see how he’s supposed to muster any verbal niceties, so he puts down the stuff he’s gotten for Luke and takes some of hers to help her carry them. She follows him, gushing, at least she’s easy to please. But Luke’s is muttering. He wonders if there’s any chance a cobbler could tip the scales against him. And he does try with TJ, he takes a crack at guessing his name and doesn’t even ask how New York and Stars Hollow are remotely the same, but then he’s at the end of his rope. It’s not like he can excuse himself to check on his car in this version of today, fortunately Luke steps in anyway and gets the two of them out by saying they have to check on the diner, but they’ll catch up later. Then they’re back in the hallway, Luke trying to rope him into some kind of useless intervention with Liz. 

”So, what do we do?”

”Nothing.”

”We gotta do something.”

”Nothing we can do.”

”What, you like this guy?”

”No. She does. For some reason.”

”And our opinion doesn’t matter?”

”No.”

”No, I do not accept that. We can go to Liz together. We can tell her what we think. You just gotta find the right angle with her.”

He wants to tell Luke that he obviously hasn’t found that angle, despite having had a lifetime of practice, that he should probably try a different tactic, but controls himself, turns out being the one to try a different tactic instead.

”Can I ask you something? Has she ever actually followed your advice on anything?”

Luke looks hurt. Shit. Too harsh.

”I’m asking, ’cause I haven’t asked her for any favors for a long time. Every time it just reminds me that she doesn't care what I think. And that-” He hesitates, it’s a bit too close for comfort. ”I don’t like that. I’m thinking you don’t either, it’s not a nice feeling, getting ignored. Why subject yourself to it?”

”It’s our responsibility to fix this.”

”It’s not. She’s a grown woman.”

”I cannot watch her throw her life away again with a loser again.”

There it is. Luke’s tired after all. Wants to give up but can’t bring himself to. Liz is his sister. He’s hard on Jess because of desperation. He’s been needing to make a difference since day one. And he thinks force will work on Jess, a boy, another man. 

Jess sighs. 

”Maybe you don’t get a choice. Maybe you have to learn the difference between what you can change and what you can’t.”

Luke raises an eyebrow.

”The serenity prayer?”

”I’m familiar with it, are you surprised?”

”I’d rather you weren’t.”

”Because I’m winning this discussion?”

”Not really.”

They stare at each other for a second.

”You’re gonna have to stop trying to fix everything.” Jess says. “Some things you can’t fix unless you break yourself. It’s not worth it. You can’t be dependent on how other people run their lives, especially ones that haven’t asked for help. There are things you can fix, like Lorelai’s window-”

Luke frowns at him.

“How-” He starts, but Jess goes on.

”You should focus more on those, on yourself. You can’t change anyone else.”

Luke snorts.

”Where are you getting this?”

”Nineteen years of experience.”

Luke laughs, and it actually feels so good to hear it makes his chest ache a bit.

”Look, I gotta go, I’ll meet you back here later, maybe we can scope this guy out some more tonight.”

Luke hesitates.

”He’s clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed, but that might make him harmless.” Jess adds.

”Fine. Guess I gotta go fix a window.” Luke mutters.

Jess heads out. It’s not like he has to be anywhere in particular, but he wants to see if she’s at the bookstore. Turns out she is. He finds her in the furthest corner; books spread out around her. His heart starts pounding hard at the sight. She lifts her head and looks at him.

”When did you do that to your hair?” He asks, like an idiot.

She purses her lips.

”Do not start with me. My back and head hurts, and I feel completely useless, like I can’t absorb another word.”

”So repeat a few. Tell me what you’ve found.”

”How about a big fat nothing?” She closes the book in her hands for emphasis. ”I started out with laws of physics, I skimmed Novum Organum, but it was just so vague, so friggin’ old.” She picks up another book shaking it at him. ”So then I moved on to Barrow. I’ve tried him before but he’s never been my forte, so I couldn’t tell if I was becoming any wiser, so I called Paris, and that just escalated into some sad metaphor on gravity and attraction, she’s a pain in the backside since she started sleeping with this professor-”

He can’t help laughing.

”So I had to pretend I was walking into a tunnel to get her off the line. And I dropped physics and got into moral philosophy.”

”I was just thinking we should try that.”

”Yeah, well, it’s not enough.” She massages her temples. ”The only supernatural stuff they mention is heaven and hell, and even then it’s all very abstract.” She gets up and at least three books fall from her lap and makes angry thuds at the interruption of their comfort. ”Whatever this is it’s gotta be dependent on a combination of fields, but I can’t figure out which ones. And the only way I’ll find out is if I keep reading.” She starts picking up the books.

”Maybe we should start by excluding stuff.”

”Way ahead of you.” She starts walking between shelves, putting back books, he follows. ”I have for example excluded economic systems, which incidentally is what I should be studying at this point in time.”

”Whatever that means.”

”Exactly.”

They exit the bookshop without thinking about it, it’s first when a passer by turns to look at them that he’s made aware of it. This town. She notices too.

”Let’s get out of here.” She mumbles, and he follows. 

They walk briskly to the small parking lot behind the building. Between it and the next house is a dead-end that also doubles as a storage area for old shelves and boards. She slips in there. And then it’s like she doesn’t know why. When he follows and they wind up a few inches apart she leans awkwardly on the wall behind her. He scrambles for something to say.

”What’s the deal with school?”

”It’s just… a lot.”

Her face. This is such a big deal, he tries to make his words soft.

”Maybe you’re just not used to struggling.”

”Thanks.”

”What?” He lowers his voice for no real reason. “That just means that you’re brilliant. Brilliant people don’t usually struggle, so they’re not used to it. Cut yourself some slack. Drop a course or something.”

She sighs.

”What do you know?”

”About college? Not a thing except it’s meant to be different from high school.”

She stares at him. He goes on.

”You’re supposed to learn how to teach yourself, right?” He feels awkward just saying the words. ”Basically what you learn by living, doing, when there’s no one with the answers at the end of the lesson.”

She blinks at him, then shakes her head.

”My grandpa managed the same load.”

”So?”

She looks at him. Eyes a bit shiny.

”You wouldn’t understand.”

”Guess I wouldn’t.”

”I just… gotta be better.”

”Right.”

”Well, you said it! I gotta get used to struggling.” It’s like she’s making a to-do-list.

”There’s not some automatic merit to that.” He objects.

She suddenly seems exhausted.

”Whatever. I gotta go.”

”Where?”

”I have a previous engagement.”

She doesn’t move however, like she’s grown comfortable to this confined space, even the proximity of him.

”You can blow it off.” He mumbles, can’t resist a chance to try to make her stay.

”Even if you’re the one trying to be a better person I’m pretty sure it doesn’t help if I degenerate.” She sighs and pushes herself off the wall.

She brushes his body with hers while leaving and he feels his arm automatically reach to touch her, his palm strokes her jacket and she turns briefly at the touch, her face a naked question for a second. He refuses to decipher it, blinks, and she’s walking away, while he feels his heart pounding.

He returns to the diner and eats leftovers from Liz’s stolen lunch, vowing to do better for dinner. He stays close to Luke, helping out when he’s able to. When TJ shows up to drag them out to the festival he immediately ushers them out the diner. 

He doesn’t really talk to people at the festival, more listens to them talking, trying his utmost to just be a stable presence. 

Then she shows up and he can’t not watch her and Lorelai, see it all from the outside again, but in plain sight. Lorelai doing her thing, making Luke’s evening because his existence is such a sad one that talking to her is always the nicest interaction of any day, even the ones that obviously bugs him. And he realizes that he’s hardly better, more the other way around; he watches Rory in line for her burgers, chest aching, and she turns, meets his eyes and goes back to watching the ground in front of her with impressive focus, and it’s fine. It’s fine that people are noticing him staring, hardly even whispering about how he’s clearly still into her, and it’s the most at ease he’s felt in a long time, not bothering to hide.

He stands like that until Luke puts a hand on his shoulder.

”Come on.”

Him being a better version of himself pays off as he gets a mattress on the floor of the apartment to sleep on that evening, which means that he wakes up only a few inches more above the floor, a few feet southwest of what used to be his room. It’s the same day all over again, but the vertigo is lessened.

 

#  **XII**

She wakes up in her cold room. Again. She huddles under the covers, doesn’t want to get up and go through it, has to. Does. Seems every word drains her for some reason. She can’t even object to Lorelai’s Rocky comment, just stares at the light from the oven. Her mother leans in and grabs her hand.

”I’m sure he didn’t freeze to death. Luke fixed it.”

She manages no more than a nod.

”Rory? Are you okay?”

”Yeah. Sure. Just… tired.”

Lorelai looks at her and even skips her Sylvia Plath joke. 

Rory takes a shower to get warm. When she’s getting dressed Lane comes in and sits with her.

”Why'd you come here?” She hasn’t been this blunt in previous installments but everything, including softness, seem to hurt this time. 

Lane blinks in response.

”I mean-” Rory continues. ”We don’t have plans, the house is a freezer, there’s no reason for you to be here unless it’s to be closer to Mrs Kim.”

”That’s ridiculous.”

”Well, unfortunately that doesn’t make it untrue.”

Lane bites her lip.

”My suggestion?” Rory continues. “Go back to Yale, it’s warm, and both Janet and Paris are likely to be off with suitors, so you’ll be left alone, and start thinking about if you’re ready to take any sort of first step, and then do that, when you’re ready, instead of circling the flame like a moth.”

”But what about the window?”

”I’m sure my mom can Barbie band-aid it all on her own.”

Lane nods slowly, and heads downstairs. 

As Rory arrives at Weston’s and waits for her order she keeps her eyes peeled for him but he doesn’t show. She even waits around outside the entrance for a couple of minutes before determining that he’s not showing this time. She sits on the cold bench by the gazebo and hurries through her coffee and pastry. Watching every mundane activity unfold in front of her; Kirk arguing over his walkie talkie, people stopping by Jess’s car that remains standing outside the diner, the hippie chick she’s assumed is Liz arriving there with a carton full of stuff. 

She’s just about to leave for Babette’s when Jess exits the diner. Her heart stops, just like it did when she recognized the car, seemingly eternities ago. He heads for Luke’s truck and is about to get in when he stops and turns, like he senses her. Their eyes meet and he smiles. He holds up a piece of paper and waves it around a couple if times to explain what he’s up to. She smiles in return even if she feels like crying. 

It’s strange; she’s not really sad, just kind of sore. Cut yourself some slack. That’s what he said. And he reached for her. She shivers and notices they’re still looking at each other. She waves vaguely at him and he finally gets in the truck and drives off. She finishes her coffee and leaves. She meets Lorelai, sticks her arm under hers and they head for Babette’s.

First she isn’t going to say anything about it, hasn’t brought it up the last few times, since it seems to make no difference, but then she feels an odd need to.

”I saw him; Jess.”

”When?”

”Where?”

”Today outside Luke’s.”

”That little bastard.”

”Well, if he would show up anywhere that’d be it.” Lorelai says, reaching for her hand. “What happened, honey?”

”He just got into Luke’s truck, probably running some errands, his mother’s here, you know.”

”That’d be why I can’t get a hold of Luke, busy.” Lorelai strokes her hand.

”Probably.”

”Well, what happened?”

”Nothing. We just kind of looked at each other.”

”Wow.”

”You still stuck on him, honey?”

She feels like laughing all of a sudden. Stuck on him. Stuck together.

”Not really. I wasn’t expecting him to come back that’s all.” Hoping, is what she really means. “Silly, of course he’d be back, ’cause of Luke.”

”Right.”

”But it doesn’t matter. He’s allowed to spend time wherever he likes as far as I’m concerned.” 

”Right.”

”And he probably won’t be around for long anyways.”

”Right.”

”Oh my god! I forgot the marshmallows!”

”He’ll be gone soon.” It hurts a lot for wishful thinking. 

She finishes her cocoa and excuses herself. Heads for the bookstore. Even Andrew might get angry at someone using a bookstore like she uses his today had it been every day, but he’ll never know. She starts with psychology this time. It’s easier to focus and she sits, frozen in place for hours before Jess’s figure appears in her field of vision.

”Hi.”

She looks up at him and he smiles, soft expression on his face. 

”Hi.” She swallows, and forces more words to cover it. ”How d’you do today?”

”Better than last. Turns out practice helps. Trying to do stuff for Liz as well - that’s when you saw me, running an errand for her - got through an entire lunch with her and her new guy, too.” He shakes his head, expression perplex. “Stupid but harmless as far as I can tell, seems genuinely into her, which hasn’t always been the case.” He sits down next to her. “Luke told me his real name last time so when he asked me to guess what TJ stands for, I said Gary. That shut him up.” He smiles a little inward smile. “How about you?”

“Today I’ve skimmed the entirety of Parapsycholopedia and Oltmann’s Anthology of Abnormal Case Studies. It contains a multitude of studies and not one describes anything like this.”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.”

She glares at him. He shrugs.

“What would it be? Delusions? There’s two of us.”

“That’s not a guarantee for anything. Shared delusions is not that rare.” She objects, then bites her lip. “Although they usually appear in sect members, siblings or… Natural Born Killers-types.”

“How ‘bout True Romance-types?”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Just saying we might try a different path for the time being.” He inches the book she’s clinging to from her grip, and closes it. “Apart from this being true, I don’t feel crazy. You don’t seem crazy to me. I’d look into mysticism if I were you.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“If I were us?” He tries again. “Dimensions, time travel, religion. Obscure stuff.”

Something clicks.

“Obscure manuscripts.” She mumbles.

“What?” 

”There’s this fundraiser I’ve been going to, before the Firelight Festival, the Ephram Wordus Rare Manuscript Acquisition Foundation.”

“Your previous engagement.”

“That’s the one. I don’t understand the half of it, but maybe it’s time I apply myself.”

She gets up and starts pacing, mumbling to herself.

”Could I get away with a notebook? Maybe. Circulating? Maybe not.”

“Can I come?”

She stops abruptly.

”What?”

“It doesn’t strike me as fair that you should have to do this all on your own, I think I should come.”

“You wanna come to the fundraiser?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“What’s your angle?”

He gets up.

“My angle is get me out of this place for a couple of hours. Anything different is good.”

“You realize this means an evening with my grandparents.”

“I like your grandmother.”

The memory of that night attacks her and she has to struggle to separate her anger then from her irritation now.

“Liar!” She exclaims, then has to check for peering eyes, finding none. What she does find is that her mouth is twitching, she’s apparently a bit tickled at the prospect of him tagging along.

“Not a liar!” He retorts. “I was in a bad mood but my beef was with you that night.” He slows his pace. “Take me. I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Whatever that means.” She snaps.

He tilts his head at her. A part of her is primed to keep fighting him, but then she considers it, and raises her eyebrows along with her shoulders.

“Fine.” She sighs. “I just have to figure out some excuse that’ll work.”

They’ve learned their lesson and stay inside, hovering behind the bookshelves. She chews on her lower lip flipping through a variety of excuses that there’s no way in hell her mother is gonna buy. Then she stops.

“Come fix our window! It’ll be a start, plus it’ll be another nice thing to do for Luke.”

“I don’t know how to fix a window.”

“I’ve watched Luke do it a number if times by now, it’s cake. I’ll give instructions, and a supply-list, but you’re the one who has to do it.”

“For Lorelai’s good graces.”

“Yup.” She scribbles down the list with instructions and hands it to him. “Hurry, before he remembers to do it himself.”

He shows up an hour later, at the house reporting for duty, claiming Luke sent him. Lorelai almost slams the door shut but Rory hurries up next to her and says hello, preventing the whole thing from spiraling. He gets started, and Lorelai pulls her aside.

“What’s going on?” She hisses.

“Nothing, I just figured out I’d rather be civil.”

“But what about-?”

“Water under the bridge, really.”

Lorelai looks distinctly skeptical.

“Are you sure?”

“Totally.”

“Okay then, I guess.”

Rory walks outside where Jess has taken the window off its hinges and knocking off remaining shards into a bucket. 

“I’m just here to make us seem friendly.” She says while weighing between feet. “She wouldn’t buy any of my suggestions if she wasn’t convinced I was enjoying your company.”

His smile is bitter at once.

“Right. ’Cause I’m public enemy number one.”

“Haven’t you always been?”

He looks up at her.

“With your mom, sure.”

She’s a bit shaken with the plea in his eyes, but clenches her jaws.

“Well, don’t you think you kind of deserve to be with the both of us?”

He sighs visibly.

“I guess.”

He goes back to work, and leaves her with fresh anger tearing at her.

“That’s weak.” She says.

He looks back at her, face resigned.

“Fine. I get it.” 

“Good. Thanks for showing the very least amount of empathy you possibly could…” She mutters.

He opens his mouth as if to protest or say you’re welcome, but she laughs, a strange sound, she thinks, without joy. 

“Just leave it, Jess, or you can spend another night listening to Gary talk about the Ren Fairs.”

He closes his mouth and forces a cold smile.

“I think that’s enough socializing.” She says, and heads back inside.

Lorelai takes the idea as one might expect.

“You wanna bring who to what?”

“I wanna bring Jess to the fundraiser.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I happen to know grandma wants men there.”

“Gentlemen, yeah, ramblin’ highway-men I’m pretty sure she’d rather do without.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he can pass as the former if he just dresses the part.”

“Rory! This makes absolutely no sense!”

“Sure it does. He apologized, wanted to make amends, I told him he owed Emily a courteous appearance.”

Lorelai stares at her, eyes wide, then smiles broadly.

“You might just be an evil genius.”

“I learned from the best.”

They smile at each other.

“But dress the part?” Lorelai objects, half-heartedly. “Does he even have the gear? It’s not like I keep men’s wear lying around for worthless suitors.”

“I’m sure Luke has something.”

“What makes you sure of that?” Her mother protests after Rory as she leaves, nothing like mocking Luke at every given opportunity.

Rory walks back out.

“You’re in.” 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rory knows her grandmother’s reaction backwards by now but nothing could prepare her for the look at their arrival.

”Bad, bad face.” Lorelai mumbles.

It is. It’s the mixture of someone who just got their wish granted but in the worst way possible. Jess looks good enough, even if Luke’s suit is a tad too big for him. Of course that fact might be enough for immediate disqualification under other circumstances, but Emily has no choice now, and Rory knows it. She lifts her chin, with a smile, prepared to sell it.

”You remember Jess.”

”Of course.” Emily’s smile is tight, but she reaches for his hand and introduces him to Richard. They greet each other, Jess seem to cower under her grandfather’s tall figure, and she takes more pleasure in it than she should. She slides out of her jacket and Jess takes it off her hands, probably desperate for something to do, already. When he’s gone to hand them to a coat room attendant Emily hisses:

”I thought I asked you to bring someone, Lorelai.” 

”I did, two of ’em.”

”You can’t find one man willing to spend an evening with you?”

“First: you did not specifically request I bring a man-”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“-second; what do you think Jess is?”

“Oh, for goodness sake; that one is a prom date, at best.”

There’s a pinch in Rory’s chest at her grandmother’s words, a prom date might not be helpful in this situation, or to Emily Gilmore personally, but it sure would’ve made a difference to her granddaughter nine months earlier.

“There, there.” She says anyway, ever the adult. “You need men, Jess qualifies, and you can place Jason with mom.”

Lorelai looks sharply at her, wild smile in her eyes.

“I guess,” Emily sighs. “But you and I are having a conversation about this particular escort at a later time and I cannot guarantee that it’ll be a pleasant one.”

Jess returns.

“Listen, young man,” Richard starts. “If you haven’t attended a function like this before, three things; attend to your date, use the cutlery from outside in, and don’t speak unless you’re spoken to until you know what’s what.”

“Sounds like my kind of event.” Jess responds before noticing Emily’s glare. “Thank you, sir.”

They sit down and are introduced to poor Marjorie and Shawna. Jason arrives and is willingly ushered next to her mom. The evening progresses as before - Jess follows her grandfather’s instructions, keeps quiet and pays attention to everyone around them, seemingly with curiosity, apparently still a quick learner because he gets up when she does and actually pulls out her chair for her when she returns. Lorelai’s eyes widen and she stifles a comment behind her napkin.

“So, Jess-” she starts after the speaker’s done. “You clean up kinda nicely.”

Such a strange compliment, double-edged to say the least. But he apparently ignores the ambiguity.

“Thanks Lorelai.”

“You’re welcome. Could I enquire as to why a guy like you would subject yourself to something like this?”

He smiles curtly.

“You kidding me? Rare manuscripts are my jam.” He takes a sip of his water. “I’m into literature, I was sure you’d picked that up.”

Lorelia mirrors his smile.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I have a few valid guesses anyway.”

“I’m sure you do.” With that he drops the interaction with Lorelai - who gets back to whispering with her fake boyfriend - and leans over to Rory, speaking lowly. “Are all fundraisers like this?”

“Like what?”

“People just attending, not knowing what it’s about?”

“I think it varies.”

“Well, I think that Jason-guy was right. Nobody gets what that man is on about, so maybe we should go ask him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Or you’ll grab a brochure, I’ll grab the guy.”

“Jess-” She starts, but he’s already on his way towards the speaker.

“I’m going to make out in the coat room, don’t eat my chicken.” Comes from Lorelai right on cue.

And they get to witness the bizarre interaction between Jason and his father. Once their party has dispersed, leaving only two malplaced secretaries, Lorelai gets up and sighs.

“Let’s just go. I trust your rare manuscript craving is satisfied?”

Rory nods and goes to find Jess who seems grateful to be pulled from the verbal grasp of the enthusiastic speaker. 

They drive back, Lorelai parks outside of Luke’s, divides up their errands, and disappears off to hers. Jess follows Rory to the line for the hamburgers. 

“That Jason-guy Lorelai’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Of course.”

“Not that it matters today anyway.” She sighs.

He gestures at the bonfire where Luke and Lorelai are standing talking.

“She should probably tell Luke anyway.”

“No.” She exclaims, then adds. “Why?”

“Sounds like you already know why.”

“It’s none of my business.” She tries closing.

There’s a pause and she keeps it up as long as she can manage, then she has to look at him. He smiles a little at her, amused.

“You guys are weird.”

“How?”

“She’s all up in your business constantly, but you never get into hers.”

“To your knowledge.” She snaps.

“Fine.”

They reach the stand and she orders her burgers. She changes the subject. 

“What d’you find out at the fundraiser?”

“Turns out the rare bit is ‘cause most manuscripts in the collection weren’t worth copying in any way. Not that I’m an expert. The guy gave me this.”

He hands her a list of the foundations acquisitions and she starts skimming it.

“He was really grateful to talk about it though, apparently I’m welcome at the foundation at any time to continue the conversation.” He goes on.

“Right.” She mumbles, eyes on the piece of paper.

“Look, you’ll obviously make more sense of it than I can - and there’s a definite focus on religious mumbo-jumbo and weird fiction by famous people-”

“Future foundations of sects.”

“- Yeah - that said, rooting around Nag Hammadi might actually be more useful to us.”

“Here’s one that might be worth looking into-” She points to a title on the list. “And here’s a reference to one at the New York Library - I’d send for a copy if it was any help, but those usually don’t arrive for at least a week.”

She pays for her food and they take a few steps away from the stand while she waits for her mother.

“We could go there.” He says.

“New York?”

“Sure, what’s stopping us?”

“Oh, only the fact that there’s no chance in hell my mom would let me go to New York with you!”

“You’re an adult. Go anyway. Or just don’t tell her.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Wouldn’t it be awesome to get in trouble? To suffer some real consequences?”

“That’s not the point. If I go just like that, no word, she’ll have the worst day of her life, doesn’t matter if it doesn’t stick, it’ll be real to her, because of me. Can’t do that to her. Not that you’d understand that.”

She almost jerks at her own words, and is suddenly aware of their presence, right under the surface, twisting and struggling to break through.

He stares at her, obviously aware too, wary, turns his eyes to the ground.

“This wasn’t easy for me either, you know.” He starts, slowly. “How do you think Luke reacted when I asked to borrow his suit? I’m supposed to stay away from you.” 

His voice fades and he looks up at her, opens his mouth and closes it once before managing more words. 

“I hope you didn’t think I left for fun.” 

She bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath to be able to respond. Puts some distance between them first so he can’t reach for her.

“I know you had your reasons, just…” She exhales and there’s a distinct note in her breath. “Nothing. You left me nothing.” She stares at the ground. “Pretty solid testament to what I meant to you.”

“I didn’t say goodbye, ‘cause it wasn’t over for me.”

She doesn’t dare to look at him, afraid she can’t take it, his voice is bad enough. 

“And, I couldn’t have the memory of breaking up with you in my head while dealing with everything else, couldn’t have had done that, fucked myself so badly.” His voice is full of cracks, all it would take is one blow. “Seemed better to just leave it... open-ended.”

Her vision goes blurry.

“Better?” She only manages a whisper.

“No. Not realistically.”

He moves in her periphery and she hurries to speak, to shield herself.

“And now it’s over anyway, for lack of a better word, a better anything.” She sniffles, and lifts her head. “So much for your open ending.”

He stares at her.

“Well, whatever this is, won’t seem to let it be over.” His tone is low, but the words distinct.

She fixes him with a stare.

“You know, the YSD put on No Exit a couple of weeks back, ironically. It’s by Sartre.” 

“I know it.” He looks away.

She sees Lorelai coming.

“That’s what this is.” She says, turns, and walks away.

 

#  **XIII**

He gets up as soon as he wakes up, walking downstairs, lifting down the chairs, putting on coffee and prepping the kitchen. Then he sits at the counter sipping his coffee. He thinks about what she said. It’s not like that though, if so, Stars Hollow has to be the wacky sitcom version of hell, and if he’s bound to eternal damnation with her, then eternal damnation really isn’t living up to its’ reputation. 

He gets up, absent-minded, and opens the door for Kirk. 

It’s about enduring having your buttons pushed, and he has plenty of those around here, and ultimately it has to be about accountability, right? Admitting fault. 

He goes through the exchanges with Kirk and Caesar on autopilot. As soon as the latter is in work attire he heads out. Walks to Lorelai’s house, climbs the stairs and rings the doorbell.

Lorelai opens, genuine shock on her face.

“Hi.” He starts. “Sorry to call so early, is Rory in?”

It’s weird, or not, that being direct seems to curb her. She frowns, but answers.

“Yeah. Not sure she wants to see you though.”

“Could you ask her anyway?”

Lorelai stares at him, it’s obvious she wants to tell him to get lost, but then there’s something else, something he hasn’t really seen since the first time they met. Maybe some idea of him being a kid. He’s not, but he’ll take it.

“Sure.” She says.

“Thanks.”

Rory shows up at the door moments later, a cardigan over her pyjamas, hair on end, but eyes attentive, face serious and reserved, fucking beautiful.

“I meant what I said the first time.” He starts.

Her mouth drops open slightly, and he can’t look at it, or he’ll kiss her. He stares at the threshold between their feet instead and forces the words. 

“I know it was unfair to do it like that, there and then. I’m sorry I wouldn’t tell you when I should have, that and other things, when it could’ve made a difference.”

He glances at her, she has her arms around herself and leans on the wall, stares at a spot between his clavicles.

“This amends thing, it’s about you too. It’s harder though, ‘cause this isn’t like the movie; you’re in this thing with me and I can’t just do stuff to you to see how it falls out, it’s a mutual thing. But you’re on my list. Just so you know.”

She finally meets his eyes. Her cheeks are pink. She smiles and he wishes he had something to lean on too.

“If endgame is I forgive you we might be here a long time.” She says, slowly, wickedly, the expression of someone who might actually enjoy that. 

He swallows. Eternal damnation.

“Forgiveness would be nice.” He says. “But seems more important that I ask it to begin with.”

“Maybe.” Her voice is soft. “I appreciate it either way.”

They look at each other for a few seconds, then he has to break the silence before he does something stupid.

“What do you wanna do this time?”

“I’d invite you in but there’s no use, might as well go somewhere else.”

“Or I could fix the window.” He offers on a whim. ”I’ve somehow learnt how to do that. And you’re right; It’s for Luke and Lorelai.”

She smiles.

“Oh, I don’t know, sometimes I thinks this stuff is integral to their entire relationship, we might be robbing them of something.”

He smiles.

“Possible. So no?”

“So yes. Fix the window. You might as well start doing things for me too-” She hugs herself tighter. “-and I’m cold.”

He laughs.

“Fine, I’ll go get the tools, you probably need to talk to your mother anyway.”

“Probably.”

They look at each other for another moment before she closes the door, and he heads back to the diner to get Luke’s toolbox. 

As he walks he thinks of Dean for some reason, the guy who built her a car. He had her for two years. What could Jess Mariano muster? Just over six months. When he thinks about it now it’s so damn obvious that he was into her from day one, and not in a casual way, even if that was the only way he was capable of playing it; He dedicated himself to shake her loose, didn’t realize, couldn’t accept she’d come with debris. Figured she was like him in every way, just adrift, that she’d float along with him just like that, just because she cared about him, that she could. He knew nothing about her grandparents, her complicated machinery, they never talked about that then, she never told him about it, so maybe he was a bit of an escape for her too. Maybe she needed that for a bit. Nothing casual about building someone a car though, even if you have nothing else in common with the girl of your dreams. Talk about holding yourself accountable for your feelings, going all in. Sure, the guy’s apparently married at nineteen, hardly a win, but still. He had guts. 

He himself and Rory are more alike, that he still believes, but she’s had such different stipulations, and it’s all because of Lorelai. Her mother’s ability to put her first has made all the difference with her, and it’s something he cannot relate to; Liz never did with him, and an uncle with good intentions and strict rules was too little, too late. But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Not even when he’s stuck here. Not that there’s any guarantee he’ll ever find out if he can make a real difference. He has no way of knowing. He sighs. But there might be something to fixing windows where she is, where they both are, and might remain forever. Serving unknown time.

He enters the diner. Luke looks up from his place at the counter.

“Hey. Caesar told me you helped out this morning. I appreciate it.”

“It was nothing, I just remembered the drill around here.” He points to the jewelry tree, asks politely, mostly to keep talking. “What’s this?”

“Just Liz’s jewelry. It’s a new thing she’s into.”

He looks at the tree. Shrugs.

“Seems this she isn’t terrible at.”

Luke chuckles.

“I wouldn’t know, but the women seem to think so. And Kirk.”

“And me.”

“And you. She’s already sold a few.”

Jess nods.

“Listen, can I borrow your toolbox?”

Luke frowns.

“What for?”

“The Gilmores have a broken window, figured I might as well-”

Luke interrupts him.

“You’re not getting into Rory’s business while you’re here, I told you-”

“I needed to say I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause.

“Apologize? You?”

“Yes.” He weighs the word, then pauses. “She was real big about it, okay? Made me feel stupid. Their window was busted-”

“I know, I have a message on my machine filling me in-”

“And you won’t have time until this afternoon, I know. I told her I’d fix it.”

Luke stares at him for a second, then gestures to the storage.

“Fine. It’s in the back.”

“Thanks.”

When he comes back Liz is there.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world-”

“Hi Liz.”

“Luke told me you’re heading out, serving the community, or this girl in particular-”

He glares at Luke, who only smirks in return. Liz doesn’t even notice. 

“-but listen, I’m so happy you’re here, I want you to have lunch with us. I have someone I want you to meet.”

He turns his sigh into just another breath.

“What time?”

“Oh! I’m so happy! And so terrible with times… One o’clock?”

“Sure.” 

He heads back to the Gilmore house and gets started on the window, it’s a lot quicker the second time around. He can learn, teach himself stuff, that’s kind of like changing, just nothing outside himself. The door opens and Lorelai comes out. She stands watching him for a while and he tries to ignore it until he can’t anymore. He puts down the tools and turns to her.

“I’m not paying you.” She says.

“I’m not out to get payed.”

“See, that just worries me even more.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to say.”

He clenches his jaws. This is the thing about Lorelai - her hard edges protected Rory, allowed her to be soft, open, probably enabled her to look at him and see puppy instead of just bared fangs, whereas when Lorelai looks at him she probably sees - Shit, makes sense; Herself. That’s what she sees, the version gone wrong. No wonder. - But either way, her being tough is what allowed Rory to become just who she is, everything he’s crazy about, and a whole bunch of stuff that bugs him too. But even those things… It makes it sweeter somehow, the structure of her. And it’s there ‘cause of Lorelai.

“I won’t hurt her again.”

“Worse, again.” Lorelai crosses her arms. ”You see when people are on their second chance with her that just means there’s more at stake.”

“I’m not on any second chance.” 

More like tenth, eleventh. He turns back to the window. 

“I’m not here to get something, it’s the other way around.” 

It’s not a lie, that has to be worth something. He looks back at Lorelai. 

“I owe her.”

She meets his eyes, still worried, annoyed, angry, but resigned now.

“Fine.” She says.

He gets back to work.

“I’ll be outta your hair soon.”

He is. He finishes just a short while later. Lifts the window back and checks his watch; she’ll be on her way back now. He walks downtown and meets her.

“On your way to Babette?”

“Yup. See you at the bookstore later?” She sounds like she wants it.

“Yeah. I’ll be late though, lunch with Liz and Gary.”

She smiles.

“You better start referring to him as TJ or you’re gonna slip up when you don’t wanna.”

“Right.”

There’s a pause. It’s unnerving. She looks at him, brushes him with her gaze. He’s starting to think she might not just have heard him before, but actually thought about, built on what he said. He has sort of tried not to himself, he just wanted to make a point about caring about her, about being sorry, not really any of the potential, consequence of loving her, for all he knows there is none, can be none, and either way it’s not the reason he needed her to know, he needed to say it, have it be heard, he certainly didn’t think about what would happen after, least of all the first time.

“So, what are you starting on today?” He asks, to have something to say.

“Uhm, religious mumbo-jumbo.”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you later.”

He hurries back to the diner, and helps out until it’s time for Liz’s lunch. He turns down beer, guesses what TJ stands for even if he knows, doesn’t argue over the missing parallel between Stars Hollow and New York, sits tight through the inventory of Luke’s teenage love life and helps set the table. 

He is starting to get the gains of being better, it feels nice to make Luke’s life easier, and there’s a lot less resistance than he imagined, he can just do it without having to talk about it, but Liz… it’s shard. And TJ may be an improvement over the guys before but he’s such an idiot. Seems the easiest thing is to keep quiet. Fortunately that works for Liz, her standards always were shit. 

“Hey.” She nudges him when TJ is talking Luke’s ear off about something. “Luke told me about your girl.”

If he strangles Luke that’s a definite dent in his karma, he clenches his fist under the table.

“Really? What did he say?”

“Just that she’s all that, that you’re head over heels for her.”

“Just, huh? Luke should learn to keep his mouth shut.” He mutters. ”Especially since she’s less ‘my girl’ and more someone I used to date, past tense.”

“Luke might’ve mentioned that too, but y’know, there’s an energy about that stuff, she might not be yours but you’re hers, aren’t you?” Liz smiles knowingly. ”Pretty powerful stuff.” 

He stares at the table and hopes she’ll move on. This has to be hell, it’s the only explanation, he’s dead and this is how he’s punished. 

“You screwed up, huh?” She says.

He takes a breath before owning up and answering.

“Yes.”

“Well, with parents like yours that was bound to happen at some point.”

He looks up at her, kind of taken by the admission. She pets his cheek, and he can’t even think to pull away. 

“I have something that helps.” Liz says, and reaches into her purse. “Luke told me, I thought, I’ve got just the thing.” She pulls out a necklace and puts it in front of him, a silver pendant with a clear drop in it. “It’s rock crystal, cleansing. I made it.”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s for her.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think-”

“I get it.” She takes it, puts it back into her purse. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

He tries, but can’t really muster an entire smile.

“I gotta go.”

He heads to the bookstore, and finds Rory in her usual spot.

“How’s it going?”

“As good as any other day I guess, in that I still haven’t learned anything useful but a myriad of very interesting things. For instance, did you know that almost half of the vocabulary in Coptic literature is from Greek? Oh yeah.”

He smiles, and sits down next to her. She looks at him as he does, and averts her eyes first when he’s at her level. Instead she stares at the shelf in front of her, smiles a little.

“How was lunch?”

“Exhausting, but, not uninteresting.”

“Really?”

“Liz was almost a mensch.”

“That’s nice.”

“It’s a surprise. I can’t say I’ve done much to have her act any different. I mostly just try to keep my mouth shut.”

“It’s a start.”

“I’m just not sure I can do better, or, I suppose I could, if I had to. I just wouldn’t mean it, y’know? And that has to make a difference.” He chews on his lower lip and stares at the book backs in the opposing shelf as well. “I guess I still don’t think I’m in the wrong.” He finishes reluctantly.

She chuckles.

“What?”

She shrugs.

“This just seems familiar.” She doesn’t say from where, but he has a few theories. “Maybe the time to hold grudges are over.” She mumbles.

He stifles a sigh.

“If I could let it go I would.” He says.

Then he feels her hand on his lower arm. He looks at her sharply, and her eyes are already on his face.

“Or maybe it’s not just you who has to do right by other people, maybe you gotta let them do right by you too.”

They stare at each other and he feels struck by lightning, stupid, for not realizing that it goes both ways, grateful, smitten, and taken by her seeing it. It must show, because her face goes soft and she averts her eyes.

“Maybe.” He says and grasps for more words. “What have you read today?”

“As promised, religious mumbo-jumbo and plain religion. Map is Not Territory, An introduction to World Religion, then The Moon Fuse. You can start on this.” She hands him a heavy book on norse mythology. They read together in silence pressed against each other’s sides. He loses track of time, can’t bring himself to mind sitting directly on the cold hard floor, when he gets to read, and sit so close to her. 

After a time she sighs sharply though. 

“It’s just myths and symbolic stuff!” She sits up and starts stretching her arms, leaning her head back and forth. “So even if we found anything resembling what’s going on here there’d be no info on how to get out of the cycle. There are no practical rituals at all in these.” She pushes the books from her lap.

He picks them up, gets up and puts them back in the shelf.

“Speaking of rituals, we might call it a day, you’ve got your fundraiser.” He offers his hand.

“I do have that.” She grabs the hand and pulls herself up.

“And I should probably make some sort of appearance on the Festival.”

“See you there later?”

“Yes.”

She let’s go of him and exits the bookshop before him, Andrew looks at him funny when he leaves and he salutes him. 

He gets back to the diner and sorts out the storage through the dinner hours, and when TJ starts bugging Luke about joining him and Liz at the festival he volunteers instead. Subsequently suffering through a whole hour of being paraded around the square and introduced to her scary friends and a whole bunch of townspeople he already knows and who certainly knows of him by the overindulgent looks on their faces when Liz presents him as something to be proud of. 

Liz doesn’t miss when Rory turns up she and Jess’s greet each other, even if it’s just with raised hands from afar, and demands they be introduced. He stubbornly refuses though, that’d be quite a scene; him and Liz with Lorelai and Rory. Surreal. Lorelai guaranteed to get along with Liz in her slightly terrifying manner while he and Rory stand around looking at each other, like embarrassed children. No way. Instead he lets Liz hold onto his arm and they watch Lorelai and Rory walk together, then split up, and Lorelai go to talk to Luke. Liz watches the interaction from the other side of the fire and a wide smile spreads across her face. She sees it too. Then she looks at him and he doesn’t have time to look away.

”What?”

”Don’t play dumb.”

”I’m not.”

Liz winks at him.

”I’m surprised you and Luke didn’t get along better, you have so much in common.”

He looks at Rory over in her line and her eyes are already on him and his mother, curious smile on her face.

It’s then that the penny truly drops. It’s a chain, a pass it forward situation. And he thinks about Dean again, and his own twisted version of that thought roughly two years earlier: he didn’t have to be a jerk to him to get to be nice to Rory, he just hated him because he got to be with her, and used it as an excuse. But you don’t steal from someone and pass it on expecting a karmic positive unless you’re Robin Hood. You pass on what you’re given. 

He turns to Liz.

“I changed my mind.”

“Good boy.” She hands it to him.

“Thanks.” 

He leaves her with TJ, and meets Rory on the other side of the bonfire a few minutes later, where she waits for Lorelai.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiles. “So that’s Liz? So weird to have face to the name, the stories.”

He smiles, sort of weakly he thinks. He’s nervous.

“Yeah. Listen, I know it’s worth nothing, especially under the circumstances, but I got something for you.”

“What?” She’s all business, probably expecting a book.

Her face is a vision when he hands her the necklace, it’s ridiculous. Her eyes go wide and she smiles, in wild disbelief.

“Jewelry?”

“What’s the point, right?” He mumbles, a bit too excited to be truly embarrassed.

She makes eye contact.

“I think the lack of point is usually the point.” She says.

“Well then. Liz made it. It’s-” 

“It’s not worth nothing.” She says firmly. 

And with that she hands him back the necklace, turns her shoulder to him, tilts her head to the side, and pushes her hair back from her neck.

He just stares at her, blindsided by the simple intimacy of her invitation. She turns her face towards him, and smiles again.

“Go on.” She says. “It’ll be gone tomorrow, I mean next time, I better enjoy it while I can.”

He hangs it on her, fumbles a bit with the lock, trying not to touch her skin, wanting to. 

“I like your hair.” He mumbles.

She turns to him, dragging her hand from her neck down to the pendant, fingers rounding the drop.

“Thank you.”

Their eyes lock and she looks so open, he swallows, she blinks and directs her gaze to the stone.

“Crystal?”

He nods.

“You’ll have to ask Liz why.”

She looks at it, stroking it with a finger, face warm. His chest aches.

“Maybe she can help with our problem too.” She says, some humor in her voice. “Consulting new age experts is as good of an idea as any.” She sighs, serious again, looking at the fire. 

He looks at her, at the flames reflecting in her eyes. 

“We should look into paganism.” She says.

“So, we’ll look into paganism.”

“They don’t really keep that stuff around here since Taylor saw The Wicker Man.”

He laughs, turns to the fire.

“We could try New York.”

The silence between them lingers. Eventually he turns and looks at her, her face is pensive, then she nods.

“Okay, if tomorrow turns out to be today all over again, we’ll go to New York.” 

 

#  **XIV**

It’s cold. Why is it so cold? She knows why, but the body goes through the motions every time she wakes up anyway. Her hand goes to her neck, but it’s bare, even if she left the pendant on when she went to bed. I like your hair, he said. Good, because it’s going to look like this forever. She sighs as the rest of the night before, tonight, whatever, comes back to her. New York. She sits up at once and hurries out into the empty hall, living room, where Lane is sleeping on the couch, then out the door onto the porch. 

Jess is standing at the edge of the driveway in the pale morning light, hands in pockets, waiting, eyes on her the moment she walks out. She stops at the edge of the porch. He holds her gaze and raises his eyebrows. She crosses her arms and they stand like that for a few moments, looking at each other, before she gives in, lets her shoulders slouch and turns back to go make her excuses. She changes first, and thinks about what she’s gonna say. She can’t say she’s going back to Yale, because that’s where Lane will end up eventually. So she goes for at modified truth.

“Mom.” She whispers as she wakes Lorelai up. “Mom, I gotta go to New York.”

“New what?” The words are out of Lorelai’s mouth without her being fully awake, but Rory can just tell that she’s gonna be up pretty quickly. She’s frowning when she opens her eyes. “Why?”

“There’s a book I can only check out there.”

“Okay, honey-” Lorelai sits up, rubbing her eyes and somehow gesturing at the same time. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a conversation on destructive versus constructive literary relationships because your strategies have payed off so far, but it’s-” She glances at the watch. “-six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, and- shoot, why is it so cold in here?” Then she remembers and sighs. “Dammit.”

“I know, mom, you can have a conversation with me about it tomorrow, but right now I gotta go.” She speaks quicker than usual, to get through it, to outrun suspicion.

“Fine. You gotta go, you gotta go, and you know it’s too early for me to follow you!”

“Lane is on the couch downstairs, just so you don’t accidentally sit on her or something.”

“Rory-”

“I know.”

Rory gets back up and heads for the bedroom door.

“Hey, this isn’t you running away from Jess, is it?”

She freezes and turns back to face her mother.

“‘Cause if it is, this is your town, he’s the one who should leave.” Lorelai adds.

Rory has to stop a sudden, hysterical laugh from exiting her at the thought of all that has happened, been said. She bites down over it and smiles at Lorelai, thinks it makes it more believable.

“I’m not running.”

“Good. Call me later.”

She hurries down and outside. Reaches him and stops. Yawns.

“So.” He says.

“So we take my car.”

He nods. 

“I’ll drive.” She says.

She does. They’re early for a Saturday so traffic isn’t too bad. But when they arrive she’s still starving and parking takes forever. He tries to talk her into not putting money on the meter, any fine she might get, even having the car towed, would be a welcome change if it’d stick. But she cannot do it, and argues that the fortune she’s spending on parking will be well spent if it by some miracle should turn permanent. He shakes his head and gets them to a diner for breakfast, so she’s grateful. After she’s eaten, and is on her second refill she’s ready to talk again.

“Where do we start?”

He shrugs.

“Any, and I do mean any library around here beats the Stars Hollow bookstore.” He sips his coffee, has barely touched his grilled cheese. “I’d stay out of the book stores though, unless they’re attached to coffee shops, owners aren’t too happy with people reading before buying.”

“Noted. So, anywhere?”

“Let’s get lower, I know my way around there better.”

They take the subway and get off at the village. The nearest public library is only a couple of blocks away and she should feel what she usually does at that many books; awe and giddyness, but instead it’s overwhelming; The sheer amount of books and add to that the fact that they’re looking for a needle in an enormous haystack, infinite really, if you consider what this whole city has to offer. She sighs and enters anyway, no choice. 

Finding the section they had in mind is easy enough, but the distinct possibility that the needle they’re looking for isn’t even a needle at all makes her exhausted before they even begin. No choice. They sit like at the bookstore, shoulder to shoulder, reading increasingly obscure accounts of different paganistic branches. A good hour passes, then he sighs and slaps his book shut, and she’s grateful he does it before she has to.

“Witchcraft is too practical I think.” He says.

“How so?”

“All spells are on kinda petty, personal stuff.”

“Like what?”

He looks at her.

“Getting people to fall in love with you, how to stop loving someone-” He looks away. “-sex, reproduction, how to hurt someone and steal stuff, there are sections on diseases but it’s all fevers, no psychological stuff.”

She lifts her book.

“And this is too antropologic; ceremonies through the eyes of an outsider.” She browses the pages to show him, then shuts the book. “We need to get into fabric of reality, that kinda thing.”

“Sounds like shamanism.”

“Great, where are all the books on that?”

He leans forward to the shelf and squints at it for a few minutes, picks out two books and hands her one. 

They read on for a while. Her neck hurts and she leans her head on his shoulder, almost surprised at how natural it happens. But then that just distracts her even more. It’s still too nice to pass up, she admits and stays there, reading the same line ten times.

“See I think we might need to go more into self-help, new age stuff.” She mumbles after a while.

He sits up on his knees and gathers the books they’ve browsed so far, stacking them on the shelf.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we should drop the books for now...”

She is as relieved as she is surprised.

“What? It’s why we came here.”

“And we can come here next time if we please.”

“So what do you wanna do instead? Do we start googling? Shamanism dot net? Frequently asked questions?”

He gets up and pulls her up after him.

“Let’s save it for later. I know someone.”

She stares at him.

“A shaman?”

He brushes imaginary dust off of himself with immense concentration.

“Someone claiming to be at least.” He mumbles.

“You know a shaman?” She can’t keep laughter from her voice.

He glares at her.

“Stop it. It’s one of Liz’s friends.”

He starts walking towards the exit and she follows closely.

“Since when do you trust Liz’s word on anything?”

“Since she put me in a room with her a few years back.”

She stops in her tracks, then has to run to catch up. They exit the library onto the street and he walks with a purpose, goal apparently clear in his mind.

“A few years back?”

She sticks her arm under his to keep up, to get him to slow down.

“It was Liz’s idea of taking care of the problem called me. I was maybe thirteen.” He slows down, presses the arm she’s holding onto closer to his side to anchor her to him as they walk. “I only agreed to it for more ammo on her, but…” 

“But what?”

“But it was scary.”

It’s the pause beforehand that makes her stop and force him to as well.

“Scary? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

He sighs.

“For now.” He taps his foot on the pavement and looks around. “Just figured it could be - that we could try actually asking someone.”

She keeps looking at him, maybe trying to pry the story from his head. He makes eye contact again, his chest rising and falling, then he smiles, a bit unexpectedly, and leans closer.

“I’m not even sure I believe it to this day, but I don’t believe any of this either, so, you tell me; what are our options?”

She lets it go, patience she can do.

“Fine.”

“Let’s go.”

“I need lunch.”

“We just ate.”

“I just ate, you nibbled, you should need food if anyone. But my metabolism is supernatural, can’t help it.”

“Alright.”

So, they find a cart and buy some food. She forces them to take a seat at a bench since she’s not fond of the walking and eating. He wolfs down his meal in minutes but without anything other than the speed indicating hunger, then he sort of sits and waits while she eats.

“Where do we find this person?” She asks with her mouth full.

“Brooklyn. We can walk if you want.”

“I want.”

“Okay.” He hands her a napkin.

After a little while they get going. They cross the bridge. She slows down in the middle, walks up to the side and looks across the river. He joins her moments later, leaning on the rail. 

“I love this place.” She says.

“Me too.” He mumbles.

She looks at him but his face has no trace of his sentiment.

They keep moving and a few blocks into the borough he turns into an alley with a few businesses in subspaces, among them a shop with a neon hamsa blinking in the tiny window and a worn out sign hanging over the door. 

He steps down the stairs and she follows, the door chimes behind them as they enter. It smells like decades of incense and cigarette smoke, untended fabric, books, and something else, more worrying, old and dead. The air is opaque with dust and smoke which is made visible by fluorescent light streaming from behind a curtain, probably an office, or maybe a storage if it didn’t seem like the store itself was being used for that purpose. Untidy shelves cover the walls holding books and trinkets, and stands for fabrics and clothes are placed haphazardly around the store, so tightly in places you’d have to move them to get to the contents. 

There’s a glass counter and she walks up to it and looks inside, there’s a number of jewelry items on a pale piece of velvet, some not unlike the crystal Jess gave her last time, but older looking, more metall, rock, bone, of undefined cultural origins, and some medallions and items she can’t even identify to begin with. 

“Rory.”

His voice is low, and she looks up to see a figure behind the curtain pulling it aside. A woman emerges, gray hair, so curly it’s almost a fog, sticks out from under a biker cap, a cigarette stuck between her lips. The woman squints from her to him, tilts her head like a bird, and smiles, a strange, tight smile.

“Jess.”

“Judith.”

He takes a few slow steps to Rory and stands close to her, within arm’s length. Judith’s smile broadens, and she walks up and stands behind the counter, leaning on it.

“See something you like?” She asks.

Rory doesn’t know what to answer. She tries doing a quick evaluation of the woman, what kind of response she’d like. Considering the look of the business Rory goes out on the limb deciding she probably doesn’t care for time-servers, or possibly anyone.

“Not really. But plenty of interesting things.” Ever the diplomat.

Judith takes the cigarette from her mouth with yellow fingers and stubs it out on the side of the counter.

“What do you want then?” She asks, directing her gaze to Jess.

“Some advice if you don’t mind.” He says.

“She’s pregnant?” Judith looks between them. “She wants to get pregnant?”

“No!” The word is unanimous and loud in the silence of the store.

Judith laughs and the sound matches her smile, her appearance, this entire place.

“Then what?” She asks as she finishes. “Thought for sure you wouldn’t come see me willingly again.”

“I wouldn’t, but I- we seem to have wound up in your neck of the woods anyway.”

“That’s usually how it works.” Judith pulls up another cigarette and lights it, then she offers the pack to Rory who tries not to decline too fervently, and to Jess who takes one and lets her light it. “But enough chit-chat. What’s up? And no vague bullshit.”

Rory looks at Jess, half terrified, half curious of how he’s gonna handle it. He takes a drag on his cigarette and speaks.

“We seem to experience the same day over and over again.”

“Like in Groundhog Day?” Is Judith’s immediate response.

She swears she can hear the profanity in Jess’s head.

“Not the response I was hoping for, but yeah.” He says, tightly.

“And you’re sure it’s not a trip gone wrong?”

“No way to be completely sure, but as sure as I can be, sure.”

Judith tilts her head to the other side, distinct curiosity on her face.

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, well, we’d like for it to stop.” He takes another drag. “I figured if anyone would know what to do it’d be you.” 

“Flattery does not become you.” Judith mutters. “I assume you’ve tried diagnosing it yourselves?”

“Yup. We haven’t been able to rule anything out, but thought maybe your neck of the woods might have the right tree to bark at.”

“Well, this is veil stuff.” Judith blows out smoke and squints at the ghostly, pale dream catcher in the roof of the store. “And there’s two of you, so collective consciousness - “ She gestures vaguely. “- unconsciousness.” She spits out a piece of tobacco. “But there’s only the two of you, ‘cause it damn sure ain’t happening to me.” She takes another, long drag on her cigarette leaving a glowing pile of ashes that cling together defying the law of gravity where it stands horizontally between her fingers. “Is this the first time you’ve come to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She stubs out the remnants of the cigarette on the side of the counter, and Jess follows her example despite only being halfway through his. She grabs his wrist as he does, and leans closer, Rory gets stuck between him and the counter.

“Didn’t I warn you about this the last time?”

His jaw muscles clench.

“That was a long time ago.” He says.

She lets him go.

“And you probably couldn’t wait to forget about it, huh?” She says roughly. ”With a life line and a tendency for living inside your own head like yours, you’d do well to remember.” She looks at Rory and speaks, softer. “Could I take a look at your hand, honey?”

Rory doesn’t think, but is already mid-motion when Jess steps in between them, and the sharpness of the movement makes her jerk and look at his face. He smiles at Judith, but it’s not real, too tight, too cold.

“Enough of this. Can you help us?”

“Advise, you say?” Judith taps her yellow nails rhythmically on the counter. “Sure, for old times sake. I don’t know what this is, but it’s nothing a drum ceremony can’t shake up, and change, good or bad, is what we’re aiming for, isn’t it?”

Rory looks hopefully at Jess, but he’s already shaking his head, pale, she thinks.

“Or some form of blood sacrifice-” Judith continues, studying her nails. “That’s a planequake no matter what you’re dealing with, guaranteed to upset things.”

“None of that.” He says.

Judith pinches her lips.

“Maybe we don’t want change enough, then?”

“It’s gotta be something we can do ourselves.”

Judith laughs again and lights another cigarette, this time without offering.

“You could always try fucking.” 

Rory stops breathing, and Judith turns to her, leaning on the counter and smiling in an intimate, terrifying manner.

“You a virgin, honey?” 

She’s used to Babette and Patty, heck, everyone, prying into what’s her business, but they’re generally less crude, and without any weird ulterior motives. She’s way out of her depth here, can’t speak. Judith turns to Jess. 

“That’d be quite an offering.”

For a moment everything is quiet, frozen, and Rory twitches at the feel of Jess’s arm around her waist.

“Let’s go, Rory.” He near growls, and leads her towards the door.

“Suit yourselves.” Judith’s voice follows them. “Maybe you’ll see me again today, play your cards better that time around.”

The daylight in the alley seems too bright, and Rory blinks a few times, possibly to get rid of the dust from the shop. But the air - thank goodness for the air - she breathes deeply and notices they’re walking, her legs are doing this all on their own, Jess’s hand still in the small of her back. When they reach the street he lets go of her and stops, leans against the wall of the building. She weighs between her feet and waits for him to get it together. He tilts his head back and looks at the sky. 

“Are you okay?” She asks.

He laughs on a breath, and looks at her.

“You’re asking me?”

She nods.

“After that shitshow you’re asking me.” He says, his twisted smile giving way to naked concern. He pushes himself off the wall and steps closer to her. “Are you okay?” He goes.

She can’t meet his eyes.

“I asked you first.” She mumbles, gaze on the cracks in the sidewalk under their feet. 

There’s another sharp exhale that might be a laugh. She looks up at him, his eyes are soft.

“How about neither of us answer the question and we just leave it at that?”

“Okay.” 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

They walk north-east. She’s stunned, overwhelmed by questions and Judith’s words carving a space inside her head, her belly, her chest, they pound there, along with her stupid heart.

“I bet sifting aimlessly through books is looking pretty good again.” She tries jokingly after a while.

He slows down enough for them walk side by side, she doesn’t miss that he’s not touching her, hasn’t since he ushered out of Judith’s.

“It always did. I got desperate.”

“So, should we find some more to read?” That’s her desperation talking, her wanting to get back to normal, whatever that means anymore, her wanting to shake this feeling of sticky magic.

He stops. Nods, and takes off in another direction when they reach the next cross-section. They find a second hand bookstore that doubles as a coffee shop and she buys a giant sub, eating it all at once, while he scours the shelves hunting down titles for them. When she’s done she really feels like sleeping, so she gets coffee and checks her messages, there’s one from Lorelai: 

“Hi, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt the book hunt, but you did say you’d call me later. Just, wondering when you’re getting back? Emily has me going to this fundraiser which will be a bummer, but maybe if you’re on your way back soon we have time to meet up after? Let me know.” There’s silence, but the message doesn’t end. “And-” There’s a laugh. “I know I’m nuts, but Luke came over to fix the window, and said Jess is nowhere to be found, and I- I just had this freaky feeling he was with you. Crazy, huh? Call me.” 

Rory checks the time, Lorelai would be arriving at the fundraise right now, she calls her for that specific reason, she won’t be able to answer her phone. 

“Hey crazy lady, it’s your daughter. Doing fine over here but will be late. Do not, I repeat, do not wait up. See you tomorrow.” She speaks quickly and hangs up the same way to exclude any awkward pause. 

She clutches the phone between her hands, staring into space for a few moments.

“Hey.” 

Jess sits town in the chair next to her and pushes a small stack of books onto the wobbly table. She puts away the phone and starts reading the backs while he eats his distinctly smaller BLT. 

“None of these are nonfiction!”

“Huh.”

She looks at him, frowning. He puts down the sandwich.

“Sometimes you just gotta read, okay?”

She looks at the books again; all short novels, poetry. Big pages with room for words to expand and grow untended. Plenty of margin space. She picks one up and opens it. Leans back in the chair and breathes as the words don’t come at her en masse. 

“Okay.”

It’s easy forgetting. Just sitting, sipping coffee and reading. She’s struck that this is it; one of the scenarios she’d imagine them in when they dated. They read a lot together, but always on her, or Luke’s couch, on her, or his bed, the same places. It’s funny that what she imagined for them wasn’t all that different than what they had, just the places; to find a place like this someplace far away to hang out with him; pretty close to paradise. Under present circumstances however, it’s more of a painkiller, but quite frankly, she needs one. 

It’s getting dark outside and she remembers her car.

“Shoot.”

“The car?”

“The meter ran out ten minutes ago.”

He bites his lip.

“May I remind you of what I said this morning?”

“No need.”

“So what do you wanna do?”

She considers her options; going to check if the car is still there, to head directly to the bus station, taking the train, she tries remembering the weekend schedule.

“I don’t know.” She mumbles. “You decide.”

“We don’t have to leave. We could stay.”

“In New York.”

“Our lack of progress here means we’ll just wake up back in Stars Hollow anyway.”

“Just walking the streets?” She’s hesitant.

“Liz has an apartment, it’s not too far.”

“And you have a key?”

“I don’t need a key.”

She closes her eyes for a second and finds the same sticky magic from before still present, albeit dormant, questions still flocking in the dark.

“Okay.”

With that she returns her focus to her book, a poetry collection by some unknown poet, abandoned here, it’s buoyant, and she loves it for no other reason, wants to buy it, even steal it, but it makes no difference, nothing stays, you get to keep nothing. Her throat stings, and she swallows her coffee to rid herself of the ache.

They leave a while later, headed east. They reach a yellow, worn down complex after a while and he slows, reading the names and numbers on the doors. Then he finds what he’s looking for, and tries the door, which is locked. He gestures at her to follow and slips around the corner, standing there waiting, with her next to him. They stand like that for a good five minutes before the door opens and a resident exits. He quickly walks up to the door grabbing it before it slams shut. He holds the door for her and she gets in. Then he’s up the stairs, three stories at least, she follows, out of breath. He’s on his knees in front of a door that just slides open when she reaches him. She stops and tilts her head as he gets up, putting something into his back pocket. He gestures at the door.

“After you.”

“Coulda fooled me.” She mutters, but walks into the apartment. 

She gets goosebumps from the smell; incense and old garbage.

“I know.” He says. “I’ll get it.”

He hurries into the kitchen, directly attached to the small hallway and gets the trash from under the sink and tosses it down the shute. Then he closes the door behind them. She stands frozen, seeing almost the entirety of the apartment from her place by the coat rack. The living room is also the bedroom, a queen size bed doubling as a couch, and a work desk covered in jewelry parts, a sewing machine, tools, catalogues, and cloth, stands next to the door to some kind of roofed balcony that just seems filled with boxes of stuff. There are old dishes in the sink and bread crumbs on the small wooden table in the kitchen, the door to the bathroom is right across from her. He hangs his jacket and hoodie under the rack.

“Can I get yours?”

She blinks at the sound of his voice and takes her coat off handing it to him.

“Is this where -” She starts.

“It’s in no way affiliated with me.” He responds. “I’ve lived with Liz in a bunch of places all over the city, but not here. It’s my first time too.”

He takes a few steps into the apartment, sweeping the crumbs off the table and tossing them in the sink, turning on a few lights, clears his throat. She walks into the living room, and sits down on the bed, the only properly made up thing in this whole place, it seems. 

They’re far away from anyone who knows them, missed by no one, it’s never happened before, she realizes, she’s always accounted for, the last time she can remember this kind of shaky freedom was when she came here for him, a long time ago. He sits down next to her, leans his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. She stares at the back of his neck sneaking down his t-shirt. At the curve if his spine continuing under the fabric. It’s all so familiar, she thinks. Maybe she’s wrong, maybe she’s just like all the others, just not realizing she’s living the same day over and over again. 

“What do we do?” She musters.

“Rest. Sleep.“ He looks at her. “What do you need?”

What a question. She takes a slow breath.

“I guess that.” 

After a moment’s hesitation she gets up and pulls the covers off the bed, he gets up too. He gestures awkwardly to stop her.

“Let me check that first.” He mumbles. “There are probably clean sheets somewhere.” 

“Don’t be a baby, it doesn’t matter.”

“Fine, I’ll check for an extra mattress.” He turns to look around the room.

“Ibid. We’re in this together, enough etiquette.” It comes out more determined than she intends; he turns back to her, and then his eyes to the floor when she starts undressing.

She peels off her pants, without really thinking about it until her legs are bare, that’s the time they pick to start shaking. She gets under the covers, hoping she makes it before it shows, and scooches in close to the wall.

His chest rises in a silent, slow sigh and he gets on the bed also, but keeps his clothes on and stays on top of the covers. She looks at his profile as he stares at the ceiling. Hears the questions start stirring in whispers inside her head again.

“You gotta tell me what happened.” She says, and thinks it comes out too loud.

He smiles a little.

“I gotta, huh?”

“Please.”

He sighs.

“The drum ceremony she mentioned-” He starts. “-it’s what they use to go into a trance, which is basically like a state of hypnosis.”

She knows quite a bit about that stuff by now, having sifted through enough books on the subjects, but she stays quiet, listens.

“Supposedly a shaman can control what happens in that state to a certain extent, but the thing is that they use it for healing and stuff like that too, on people who can’t… do that. They have to have a shaman present for that control. Not that it matters anyhow, I didn’t believe in it, but…” He taps his fingers to his chest where he lies, like he has his own private ceremony going on. “There was this guy who lived in the same complex as me when I was a kid, when I was like, six or seven years old. He was real popular with the parents ‘cause he’d always offer to look after the kids when they were playing outside, and he’d do it for nothing, like, just for favors in return. Of course his motivations were less along the lines of being a swell guy, and more about kids my age being the perfect size of punching bags. He’d call it discipline but he looked for excuses. We’d stay as far away as possible, but he figured out we used to hang out in this little storage unit at the other end of the yard and locked us in there.” He pauses. “It was so warm. Between those buildings… we never had any wind. Eventually people started looking and he helped out-” He finger quotes in the air above his face. “-and found us, what a fucking hero, opened the door. He gave me this look... as I ran out.” He falls quiet, takes an audible breath. “Anyway, other, more observant parents figured him out a while later and he got sent away for worse shit. But when I was in my room with Judith, he came back.” He turns his head to look at her. “I swear he was in the doorway, saw him as clear as I see you, like that day when he opened the door to that shed and stood there, looking at us, he was looking at me, that way, without blinking. And I couldn’t blink either, I could do nothing. It was like sleep paralysis, or something.” He’s quiet for a few moments, looking through her. “So, I refused to see Judith again, but I still had nightmares for weeks.” He looks back at the ceiling and smiles, maybe because he can get away with it that way.

She’s too afraid to say anything, afraid everything will fall apart, that she’ll sound too broken, and he’s never told her anything so specific and disturbing about his past before, so there’s no way she’s risking scaring him off doing that again. She still has to say something. She mumbles.

“And the warning she mentioned?”

He waves dismissively.

“Standard bitter medium crap.”

She looks at him.

“Yet here we are.”

“Just because she happens to be the real deal doesn’t mean she won’t yank your chain given the chance.”

“I would’ve let her look at my hand.” She says.

“I know.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have brought you there in the first place.”

She thinks about her mother. I had this freaky feeling he was with you. There’s more in the world than she ever imagined. She wonders if Lorelai is worried about her. Hopefully not, but possibly, it’s a real thing she would be feeling. And here she is. 

He turns his head and looks at her, quiet, just lets his gaze travel across her face slowly. Now she knows why Judith’s words have found such a safe space in her in no time; they’re already there, minus all the creepy ritualistic implications, they’ve lived there for a year, despite everything. Her eyes flick to his lips. She wants him to kiss her. She looks at his hands resting against his chest. She wants him to touch her, take it further, and if he does, it’s gonna happen, she knows that in a flash. She wants. It pushes against her insides with every heartbeat. She waits. But he does nothing, just looks at her. There’s longing there, it’s clear, and she tries to mirror it, to make it plain that she’s beyond caring about consequences by now. But he does nothing. 

“Maybe Judith-” She starts slowly, her voice swaying with every heartbeat, but he interrupts.

“Not even maybe anything from her, okay? She doesn’t get to be puppeteer.”

“But-”

He looks back at the ceiling.

“No. We’ll figure something else out.”

And so she knows it won’t happen. She reaches out her hand anyway, lays it open between them. An invitation he doesn’t see or just doesn’t take. His word is final. She looks around the room instead. Watches the lights from cars on the street wander over it as they pass. Loses track of time, just knows it gets late. Knows he’s awake from his breath.

“Have you ever stayed up for it?” She asks right into the silence, not sure if she should expect an answer.

“The full circle?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s a whisper from the sheets, a creak from the bed at the weight of his body as he turns on his side towards her.

“I’ve tried. But there’s always this point when everything goes black anyway.”

“For me it’s been no different than falling asleep.”

He chuckles.

“Well, knowing you you’re probably in bed already.”

“Sure.” She admits. “Not you?”

“I’ve been driving.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “You ever been sedated? The non-Ramones kind?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that.”

They’re quiet considering it. Then she asks.

“Why were you sedated?”

“Broken arm, stitches in my forehead, different incidents.” He answers flatly, with no resistance. “You?”

“Wisdom teeth.”

He smiles at her, softly, like a caress. She swallows. 

She gets to keep this day though. It’s ridden with bedsores and twisted, but it doesn’t go away. She looks at him for as long as she can bear, then away. There’s a clock ticking on the wall. They stare at the ceiling, occasionally looking back at each other to see if they’re still awake. 

The black outside the window is almost turning gray when she feels it. Count backwards from ten. She looks at him, unable to speak or move, and he looks back, with the countdown evident on his face too, it’s in the urgency. He must be stronger than she is because he forces his hand towards hers, into it on the pillow, strokes his palm over hers and tangles their fingers together. She gasps. Everything goes black.

 

#  **XV**

He wakes above the diner and is exhausted, discouraged. Just moments ago he was on a bed with her in an empty apartment in a city where no one was looking for or at them. He’s grateful she didn’t get into one of her forward moods. If she’d kissed him he would have had no way of refusing her. And he should. But it makes him feel hopeless too. It makes him wonder how long he can keep this up. 

He only forces himself out of bed to avoid running into Luke. He really doesn’t see the point of it but puts on a pot of coffee to make Caesar’s morning a bit less panicky. Then he leaves. What a difference a day makes, especially since nothing’s different. Last time he ran to her house to pick her up, now he just drags his feet to Weston’s and sits at his table as soon as they open. Waits. She shows up on her time however, seemingly unaffected by their failure.

”Hi.” She smiles at him, sweetly, and he can’t even respond with anything more than a pale grin.

She sits down opposite him and takes a few sips of her coffee and a bite of her Danish.

”Why do you order the same thing every time?” He asks. ”Would it make a difference if you went with vanilla or apple?”

She shrugs.

”I don’t know. Just procedure I guess.”

”Magical thinking.” He mutters.

”Also I seem to be in the mood for the same thing every day.” She actually giggles. ”Aren’t you?”

”Oh yeah, I wake up everytime in the mood to get outta here.” He forces a smile and stirs his coffee.

Her smile shrinks slightly.

”I suppose you would be.” She mumbles. ”Are you okay?”

”Of course not.” He puts down his spoon. “We’re getting nowhere. Literally.”

He’s getting nowhere. He’s been travelling to not think about the fact that he’s stuck, oh, the irony. Now he gets to know what actually moving forward would, could, be worth. She, on the other hand… She’s at ease. He squints at her.

“Tell me more about school.” He says, tries to make it sound just like a casual case of curiosity.

She takes another bite and looks out the window, supposedly while thinking of an answer.

“Don’t you have all the answers?” She asks, with a smile.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I got a pretty good imagination, and a different perspective.”

She keeps looking out the window.

“Come on.” He says, more pleading now. ”I thought the whole point of working so hard back then was to be able to not have to do that at some point. If you’re just gonna push yourself forever…”   
“Maybe I’m one of those people who thrive under pressure. Maybe I just constantly need new challenges.” She looks down into her cup while she speaks.

“Maybe.” He tries keeping impatience out of his voice. ”Can’t say I have a whole lotta experience with those kind of people, mostly ‘cause I don’t think they tend to hang ‘round my kind of people.”

She puts down her cup of coffee, tilts her head and smiles.

“Do you even have a kind of people? You don’t even like ‘em.”

It’s a distraction, a toy she’s hoping he’ll go after. He frowns.

“You’re my kind of people.” He says. “And to me it doesn’t seem like you’re pushing yourself for your own sake.” He falls silent, this wasn’t what he was aiming for, another pitfall he should’ve anticipated. “You mentioned economy. That what you’re taking now?”

Her smile is gone and she’s gone from chewing on her pastry to chewing on her lip. She nods.

“Got a big test coming up?”

Another nod, he acknowledges it with one of his own. He’s so the wrong person for this talk and has no way to proceed, but is convinced she’s glad of the lull, in need of a break, if this could be construed as one. She needs to be shaken loose from it.

“You just, looked forward to college so much.”

“I know.” Her tone is tight, low.

He looks at her face, torn, doesn’t want to do this to her.

“I barely manage to be one person, and you’re trying for all of them.” He leans his forehead in his hand, exasperated.

When he looks up she’s watching him with an expression he can’t decipher. She puts her hand on his one resting on the table, like he needs to be comforted, and, maybe he does, but that wasn’t what he was going for.

“Cheer up.” She says. “When you think about it, it’s not that bad, we have, to our knowledge, unlimited time to read all the books, to try all the things.” She smiles. “I might even have time to learn all there is about economic theories.”

“That wasn’t my point.”

“I know. I purposefully misunderstood you.”

He laughs, it takes him by surprise, and he thinks he mainly does it for lack of other things to do.

“Today, for instance, there’s a whole section of Chaos Theory which I will; a - try to translate to english and b - try to match to any of the deities we’ve read about.”

“So today’s working theory is omnipotent intelligence?”

“Why not?” She shrugs, eyes glittering. “Now, go be good, she’s watching.”

He’s stuck looking at her. Hopeless. He smiles a little.

“Okay.” He sighs. “See you later.”

He goes back to the diner. It’s okay around Luke, easy just to make yourself useful, but with Liz he’s in a horrible mood. He works in the diner for a while but has to let it go to get to lunch with her. He gets through the awkward exchange with her and TJ and is kinder, he thinks, than the first time, but too antsy to stay for long after Crazy Carrie enters the conversation. He finds excuses to leave early for the bookstore, the easiest is for Liz, TJ and Luke, they don’t expect any different, and probably never will, with himself he usually isn’t very creative, especially not when Rory’s concerned, he just follows his gut, and accepts that he’s a terrible person, but that’s getting harder lately.

“Why are you here so early?” Are her first words when he arrives.

“It makes no difference to them if i’m there or not, not in one day.”

Her head tilts sideways and she looks at him in silence, concerned. He smiles, he can’t really help it.

“Don’t worry. Upside of being the bad seed; your absence automatically makes life easier for people.” Apparently that doesn’t change her expression and he should’ve figured, but he has trouble balancing his jokes these days, they get too dark. “I promise I’m not losing us points.”

She sighs, and returns her gaze to the book. He remains standing for a while before taking a seat at the floor beside her. He doesn’t ask how it’s going however, too tired of hearing bad news. He picks up a book stacked beside her and opens it. It’s an encyclopedia on mythical phenomenons, creatures and gods, symbols, probably for cross-checking stuff. He browses it. Alpha and Omega, Ouroboros. Why is eternity such a comforting thought for people? The annulus, the loop, see also knots; its’ prime function is to unite and attach but also to bind. The metaphor of severing a knot by force refers to the most efficient, but also delict way to reach a goal (see the gordian knot), ultimately with the result of releasing a force that thus far has been bound. See also shackles. He shuts the book with a loud thud.

“I’m really starting to think we won’t find a thing in books.” 

“I think you’re probably right.” She mumbles without taking her eyes of the page.

“Then how are you so calmly reading?”

She leans her head on the wall behind her and looks at him. 

“We could go back to New York, if you like?”

He jerks at the words, but her eyes are earnest. She’s right, of course, they could. Or they could go somewhere else, they could do whatever they wanted, and probably enjoy themselves, and then they’d just end up back here, it’s just a temporary leave.

“Just, what are we supposed to do instead of this?” She says, softly.

“Nothing but giving up comes to mind.”

Her gaze becomes distant and she shuts her book as well, staring into space.

“You are right.” She mumbles. “Did Bill Murray try reading up on this? No. He just learned french.”

“Not more of this betterment business!”

“Not as a key to get out, but for its’ own sake.” She gets up. “It’s  Kant’s catch 22; you can’t be truly good if you’re trying to be better for your own sake, your own gain.”

“That’s bullshit.” His throat stings. “That has to be bullshit!”

She holds out her hands and shrugs.

“Yeah, well, as long as we’re trying, our motivation is holding us back. We won’t gain any points because we’re doing it to get out.”

He stifles a sigh, but it makes his chest quake.

“That is if something is keeping score in some way, which we can’t know.”

“Just let that go for a second and think of the movie.” She says.

He does, and clenches his teeth when the penny drops.

“It’s only when he’s given up that he gets better, right? That’s when his motivations are pure.”

She nods.

“First he gets better and more time passes, and then he gets to leave and it’s not even entirely clear what he’s done to deserve it. And in the end he decides they should live there anyway.” 

“Shit.” 

“Right.” 

He gets up also. 

“So maybe it’s the place. This place. Maybe it’s Stars Hollow. Have we read anything on haunted, or spirited places? Maybe it’s like, sentient.”

“And maybe Taylor’s a warlock who’s sacrificed a pair of teenagers every thirtieth year to maintain his power.” Her mouth twitches.

“Don’t do that!” He gestures in frustration. “How is that crazier than what is happening to us?” 

She stops smiling, out of politeness, he thinks.

“Fine, I’ll look into it I guess. The house is alive.”

He looks for mockery in her face, but there’s none, she’s already far away, gestures absently at him.

“Go away. We’ll catch up later.”

He heads back to the diner, thinks that had he had a functioning car he would’ve been long gone, for this day at least. But he doesn’t. Instead he keeps his head down and works as hard as he can with anything that allows him to stay away from people. He does the storage, it’s easy since he’s got the entirety inventory memorized by now. He sorts it, cleans it then moves on to the other extra spaces; the junk room, the stairs, and the hallway outside of the apartment. He waits, ‘til Liz and TJ get out to meet her friends, then does the apartment, the sink is full, naturally, the table covered in crumbs and stains, the bed’s unmande, he hates to think of why, there’s a wet towel on the floor of the bathroom. He fixes it all, and more. 

This isn’t a new tactic. He learned, early, that working hard is the best way to not have to think or feel, and make money at the same time, of course, that last part doesn’t matter here, now, or forever. 

After that he gets to the diner itself, helps with clean-up after the afternoon rush. All quiet. It is, however, impossible to avoid Luke, who wipes the counter slowly and looks at him, he feels it. He doesn’t acknowledge it, he doesn’t even try to get him to not look, just keeps working. After a while his uncle stops moving all together, leans on the counter instead, watching him with a frown.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Jess just keeps moving. Sighs. Has to answer. Silence can be just as confrontative as words, or even fists sometimes, he’s noticed. Tries for honesty.

“I really don’t. Do you really need to know?”

Luke snorts. Puts the towel over his shoulder and crosses his arms.

“There’s not a whole lot I need from you, Jess. I’ve been getting on just fine without you.”

Jess is more upset than he would’ve been had this been his first time, but it’s not, Luke may not have learned to expect anything different from him but he’s learned to expect different from Luke.

“Great.”

“I hope you don’t think you’re getting payed.”

“Geez! No. I don’t think that. And even if I was, you have nothing to offer me!”

Luke can’t help him with this. He can’t help him with what was. It would’ve been almost impossible to; Luke would’ve had to offer stuff he shouldn’t have had to, and Jess would’ve had to ask for it. 

“Excellent. You have nothing I need, I have nothing you need, we’re just inhabiting space together.” Luke’s tone is light, tight, untroubled, false. 

It hurts his ears. Luke can’t help it, this isn’t his responsibility, he’s only giving what he gets.

“I’ll get out of your space.” Jess mutters, low, so his voice won’t break.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He puts down the rag he’s using to wipe tables with and walks out of there, cursing to himself, cursing himself. 

Maybe you gotta let them do right by you too. Great. How the fuck does one do that? He walks across the square past the gazebo, past the bonfire, sees Rory and Lorelai arrive and tries not to march, not to make it too obvious. He walks to the bridge and sits in his place. 

A few moments of staring at the water in peace passes before he hears her footsteps. He takes a breath and faces her as she sits down next to him. She’s gonna ask him so he hurries to speak first.

“Did you find anything?”

“What do you think?”

She’s trying to make a point, but it’s not welcome. 

“Bet I can find more in New York, hell, even Hartford, or just the damn internet.” He aims for being constructive. ”Maybe you could check Yale, they should have a whole lot that maybe we can’t find anywhere else. I’ll help tomorrow-” He bites his lip. “I mean next time.”

“Okay.” Her tone indicates she’s not done. “But I don’t think it’ll yield anything.”

“But what about what Judith said-”

“I thought we weren’t gonna consider her.”

“-what if it is just us? What if we wake up and the world has moved on.” He sighs sharply. “And what happened to read all the books, try all the things?”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“My hopes? We might well be stuck here forever, I think I might be entitled to lose my hopes now and again.” He can’t keep emotion out of his voice, he translates it into irritation, anger, it’s his way. “And I thought giving up was just the ticket. Try staying a bit consistent please!”

“My priority isn’t consistency, I think we get enough of that around here.”

“Alright, miss Cherry Danish.”

She chuckles, a clear indicator that he’s keeping himself in check a little too well.

“You’re just pissed because your direct action plan and crazy haunted place theory didn’t pan out.” She teases.

He gets up. This half-mile, four-block, freakhole of a medical experiment. 

“I hurt its’ feelings, and now it’s gonna eat me.” He mumbles.

He starts pacing.

She gets up and puts her hand on his arm, halting him.

“I think you’re being a little silly.” She says, crooked smile. “Even during present circumstances. It’s not just the space that’s the same, it’s the time as well, and, not being able to leave a place is only natural when you think about it.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever heard the phrase wherever you go there you are?”

“Dammit, Rory.” He swears.

She ignores it and goes on.

“You can’t leave earth. And life all over the planet seems more or less the same to me.” 

“To you? The would be globetrotter?” 

She blushes, throws him a glare, the first real sign of her being annoyed.

“What does it matter if you always end up in Stars Hollow? Ultimately you’re going nowhere.” She bites.

He gestures vividly.

“It matters. A place is only good as long as you have the option of leaving it.” 

She takes a step back, frowns, then looks away, shakes her head, serious all of a sudden, as his words sink in. For him too. He takes a few steps away, stops and turns towards her.

“We shouldn’t be here. Nothing makes any sense. This stupid town doesn’t even have a groundhog of its’ own, which by the way is fucking unbelievable if you ask me.”

He marches out on the bridge gesturing at nothing. When he starts speaking again, it’s loudly and at the same nothing, or something, who the hell knows, and his volume escalates.

“What the hell do you want? My life sucks! I realize my insignificance! I do the work, if I tried any harder they just wouldn’t believe me. There’s only so much I can do! I told her how I feel, this isn’t news to anyone! Everybody knows! I told her! Just let me get out of here!”

There’s awkward silence as his own words echoes in his head and he turns back to look at her. Her face is all different from the trouble-free version of herself she’s been all day. There’s something frayed to her, he thinks, it’s new, he’s seen it a few times since he’s been back, never before that though, and it makes him angry, for lack of a better emotion, probably. She stares at him a moment, then she turns and marches off.

“Rory!”

He goes after her and catches up with her at the bridge abutment, reaches out and grasps her sleeve. She stops, turns and tears herself from him.

“You know what I think?” She yells. “I think you should fix your stupid car tomorrow, I don’t know, or you could just learn all there is to know about mechanics and fix it yourself, save time and money, before you know it you’ll be outta here before lunch, just keep running!”

“Look who’s talking!” He’s too panicked to control himself, but at least has time to make that observation.

“I’m not running from anything, I never get to do that!” She takes a shaky breath, when she speaks again there’s structure to her voice, like a revving engine. ”I’m just trying to get away from you, beat you to the punch, it’s what you’re gonna do first thing if we ever get outta this anyway!”

“Yes!” He can’t even picture the scenario anymore. ”And you wouldn’t? Why don’t you just admit that you don’t really want things to change! That you’re enjoying this, knowing everything you could possibly expect.” 

She glares at him, he’s never seen her so angry, but he knows he’s right, otherwise she wouldn’t be frozen, like a deer in headlight. He takes a breath, desperation in his voice. 

“Don’t you understand that I need things to change? I’ll die otherwise!” 

When he says it… That’s it, what he’s felt but not thought or spoken of. He needs things to change. But he wouldn’t need that if it wasn’t for her. He won’t tell her that though, that he already knows. 

She blinks, looks away, eyes shiny, then turns and leaves, walking in the direction of her house, and he lets her go. 

 

#  **XVI**

The day is as it usually is. She hits her marks, as he put it, with exceeding precision, and pats herself on the back when she does. She imagines Bill Murray hitting his stride, she imagines herself at her best days, when everything falls into place. Screw him. 

And when she goes to Weston’s, he’s not there. And try as she might she cannot fight the urge to find out if his car has indeed been pushed to Gypsy’s, if he’s working on it himself, or what’s he’s decided to do instead. She hurries by Luke’s to see, but the car is still there, not a person near it. She looks inside the diner where Luke is arguing with his sister, Jess’s mom, still makes her head reel to think about it. Other, more attentive parents, he said, Liz’s idea of taking care of the problem called me. She gets pulled into the shed with him, into his old bedroom with Judith, which she falsely pictures as Liz’s where they spent the night, sees the man from his childhood in the doorway, light glimmering in his unblinking eyes. She shakes her head and hurries to make her appointment at Babette’s. It’s easy to insist she’s fine. In fact she’s so successful Babette doesn’t even ask a second time, but Lorelai looks at her, a tad strangely, like she’s missed something.

“I haven’t even seen him.” Rory smiles.

“Well, his car is still here.” Babette says.

“Would be pretty weird for him to take it, have it break down, getting brought back by Coop, and then just leave.” Lorelai says slowly, looking at her.

“If anything could bring him back it’d be that car.” Rory chuckles. “But I’m not worried, he’ll be gone soon.”

“Yeah, he’ll be gone soon.”

“Already is as far as I’m concerned.” She sips her cocoa.

At the bookstore she can’t help expecting him to sit in his corner, having exchanged Al Franken for a book on motor mechanics, but he’s not there either. She stands hovering by the shelf for a while before remembering she hasn’t asked Andrew for any books, she’s not sure what to do today. But it’s a relief to not have your existence depending on your reading list. Instead she picks up Keynes and sits down at the back of the store, where she’s been sitting all this time. She reads, and doesn’t jerk and crane her neck to see the door every time it chimes. After a while she’s tired from all the attention she isn’t paying to it. She’s distracted by her own stupid expectations, so she leans her head back instead, looking around the room. 

She’s spent so much time here, even before this whole mess. But no one was ever here next to her. Not that she needed it. She’s had all the company she could need in the shelves. At least that’s what she’s told herself, denied herself the idea that it might be nice to have someone understand her completely in those private moments. 

She and Jess do not read for the same reasons, but they used to, everyone falls into it the same way, but for her it’s become a means to an end, for him an escape, and part of her envies him that, despite everything. He gets to keep it as a mere interest while her reading over hanging out with other kids - at least until she found Lane, and the two of them never shared this anyway - has been the founding for her identity; You like to read, why not some books for school, why not some nonfiction, why not use all you know to further yourself? Everything must fill a function outside yourself or it loses its’ value. You’re tight with your mother, whom everybody loves, so they love you also; you have a lot of adults in your life, so you end up getting on with your teachers, presto, you’re doing well in school. You’re doing a bit too good in school, the school isn’t challenging you enough. 

And there it is, the thing she can’t let herself think about, but a truth so simple she can’t deny it; She might have been happier before Chilton. Or, more content with her general existence, so indirectly happier. 

She wanted Chilton too; since she was old enough to remember she’s loved libraries, schools, institutions of education, knowing, the ultimate resource, and she’s dreamt of getting to spend time attending them, and Chilton was a step towards that, a means to an end. Isn’t it the most horrid thing, that getting what you want can end up making you just a little less happy? That it’s never pure. She wants the Ivy League, so she goes to Chilton and it makes her look at herself as not quite enough. 

You’re brilliant, he said. She doesn’t feel brilliant. What she is or isn’t, is irrelevant. She feels not good enough. Not good enough for Chilton, not good enough for Yale, not good enough for her grandparents, and maybe, not good enough for her mother. Not academically of course. But personally. She’s not brave enough. That helpless feeling; knowing that she can drop a course, her mother has even suggested it, just do a little less, but being utterly unable to. Her hands are tied by herself, she’s the strait jacket. 

So maybe it’s not so much that his fierce, destructive struggle to be free, get free, get gone, owe no one, is foreign, but more the opposite; it’s right on top of her. She is angry in part because she can’t blame him, she knows what it’s like to feel indebted, so beyond any chance to repay, still trying to, by promising all of you for eternity, to feel bound by what’s to come. Maybe she hasn’t tried fighting this because she’s so used to it. Shoot. Her own thoughts are even starting to sound like him; his voice in her head is becoming her own.

The fundraiser starts well enough, everything is much easier to handle when you know it’s coming, Emily’s antics seem like fiction, humorous, and it’s easy to answer chipperly.

”It’s not your looks that keep them away. Think about that.”

Rory gives a little wave.

”Excuse The Clash, they want to know, should I stay or should I go?”

And she takes the liberty of stepping on Emily’s line to Jason:

”Don’t sit there, that chair is obviously occupied. Here, I’ll move. You can pretend you’re together with mom.”

They all stare at her for a second in different forms if shock before her grandfather congratulates her on her excellent idea.

“So, who else is joining us?” 

The question is automatic, she asks it to do her job. And so she’s completely unprepared for what happens.

“No one. We brought one of Richard's coats to hang over the chair.”

Even if she knew the answer, has heard it so many times, something tears inside her this time. Something in her head, her stupid heart, while her grandparents go on talking.

“Does everybody understand the story?”

She sure doesn’t. The narrative structure has lost all its’ meaning since everything’s been on repeat. Yesterday in an empty chair I saw a man who wasn’t there, he wasn’t there again today, how I wish he’d go away. It’s never pure. She wants him to stay, so things have to stay the same, nothing gets to change. He’s here, so he’s more gone.

“This is ridiculous.” 

Did she say that out loud? She blinks, looks around to find all eyes on her.  

“Why would it matter if you fill a table you’ve already paid for or not?”

“Keep your voice down.” That’s Richard.

She can’t stop the words from falling from her mouth, so she tries to keep her voice light, like she’s amused.

“And why would you even care if you’re permitted to throw your money on The Ephram Wordus Rare Manuscript Acquisition Foundation in future years, you don’t even know what it is they do!” 

“That’s enough!” That’s Emily.

It’s not enough though.

“Making up stories about imaginary people attending, being here, when they’re just not.” Her humorous tone is gone, and she wonders if anyone else can hear the tremble in what remains. “You probably have a story about how Marjorie’s husband is too, huh? What he does for a living, to make him respectable, to make his absence more acceptable. He’s a very important man, he can’t be expected to sit around with his wife all evening. Are you even married, Marjorie?”

“Rory!” That’s Lorelai.

She jerks at her mother’s voice, and gets up jaggedly.

“Excuse me.” She manages, and makes her way to the restroom. 

She stays there for as long as she can excuse, then promises her good mirror image to stick to the script the rest of the night. But it’s too late. The mood is dampened when she returns to the table, Jason’s out and about making the rounds with her grandfather and her mom and grandmother are freezing each other out, probably arguing about her. They barely sit through the speech and then Lorelai wants to leave. 

It would be unbearable in the car if she could feel anything but hollow at the fact that it won’t even matter tomorrow.

“So-” Lorelai starts. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” She mutters. “They were being ridiculous. You know they were being ridiculous.”

“Of course I do, but that’s beside the point.”

“Obviously you think that.” 

Lorelai ignores her comment.

“You’re supposed to be the nice one, the angel child who listens with a smile.”

“I’m not allowed a night off? No, I’m just supposed to follow your whimsy, right? It’s not supposed to be me going off the rails.”

Her mother stares at her. She gestures, unable to stop the avalanche.

“I’m so sick of this family sneaking around everything little thing like it’s explosive! And Jason and his father, addressing each other like associates at best-”

“What do you know about Jason’s father-?”

“-That’s another functioning family!”

“The Anna Karenina principle.”

“And just, poor Marjorie, poor Shawna, being pulled into this malstrom of crazy.” 

“You’re a malstrom of crazy.” 

“That stupid jacket, that stupid chair!”

“At least they’re creative.”

“Nobody’s telling it like it is!” She growls.

“Okay. Okay. But this is hardly news. Why flip out about it tonight?”

Rory stares out the window.

“Fine.” Lorelai says. ”Don’t tell me what’s going on. It’s not like you need to anyway. You’ll be glad to know I excused you to Emily by telling her your ex boyfriend rolled into town and you were a bit prickly because of it.”

“Gee, thanks!”

“Hey, that meant taking the heat for you, in case you’ve missed it’s on me to shield you from that stuff.”

“I don’t need protection. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re acting like a Stepford Wife!” Lorelai stops the car, parks outside of Luke’s across from the broken car, earlier nights she’s driven them home, and unnerves Rory more than she likes to admit that her mother breaks the routine.

Lorelai gets out of the car and walks towards the diner, across the square the troubadour sings nothing stays the same, I won’t ask it of you.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m going to talk to Luke, and I suggest you go find Jess.”

“Have you lost it?”

“You obviously have things on your mind, you should give him a piece of it.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

Lorelai spins and stops her in her tracks, pinning her in place with a determined look.

“You don’t wanna deal with it, I know. But, honey, after tonight I’m thinking you really should, anyway.”

Lorelai then waves dismissively at her and walks towards the bonfire, leaving her on the sidewalk. She remains there for a minute before getting going too. She could just go home, go to bed. But then. Another identical day, nothing to do but to play her own private game, forever and ever.

She walks slowly across the square, but is fairly sure she won’t find him here anyway, she sees Lorelai talk to Luke and Liz, and sort of knows he won’t want to be near that without explicitly being told to. By her, most likely. She stops, and knows where to go. 

She heads to the bridge, and sees him from afar; a leather-clad figure sitting on the edge, feet dangling right above the surface of the water, cigarette smoke rising from his mouth. She doesn’t know what to say, where to start, probably wouldn’t even consider this if there was an actual tomorrow. She sighs and walks out to him anyway, and stops a few steps away. He looks up at her and her heart aches. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you.” It’s not clear if he means today, or at all.

“My mom’s idea.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think she recommended it out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Makes sense.” He looks back at the water, and takes a drag.

She sits down next to him, wishes she smoked so she could take the cigarette from him. Finds herself wondering if a nicotine addiction would follow her from this day, if it ever ends.

“So, what chosen words would your mother have you say to me?”

“Some harsh and cathartic ones, I guess.” 

“And which ones will it be?”

She thinks about it. Finds herself not in a hurry. Her chest still hurts. She lowers her voice to get the words out without it breaking.

“You can’t wait to leave again, right?”

He sighs, and bites his lip, stubs out his cigarette on the side of the bridge, and puts the butt back in the pack. Then he looks at her.

“Why do you want me to stay anyway?” The question is soft, sad.

She swallows hard, understands clearly that people aren’t ever in a real position to know what they mean to someone else. 

I thought you knew, you always acted like you saw straight through me, always. I want you to stay because I need you to remind me who I am, by being who you are. Because you’re a distorted mirror image that can talk back, and maybe you need me close too, for that same reason. Because you said you loved me. I want you to stay because I want you where I can find you, in my mind if nothing else, because I need something like that too, that makes no sense, that fills no apparent function, I need to keep that. 

She looks at him, he’s still watching her, serious, sort of helpless. It’s never pure. He needs to go, so she can’t keep him, or maybe that’s exactly how she’ll get to keep him, maybe he’ll come back. Maybe he’ll even stay if she asks him to plainly. Maybe it will kill him.

“I thought we covered this; you didn’t even say goodbye.” So much for telling it like it is, but the truth is just too… true.

He blinks and his eyes go shiny, he looks back at the water.

“Sometimes saying goodbye isn’t enough.”

“No, sometimes the only option is staying.” She shoves him lightly with her shoulder.

He smiles, and she breathes easier for it.

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.” He mumbles.

A thought begins forming.

“And the groundhog is the seer of seers.” She says, half to herself. “And so are those who remember what happened the first time.”

“What are you on about?”

“You know when Zack and Brian get stuck in those old Sega-games?”

“Sure.” He starts slowly. “That’s one of the reasons I like reading better.”

“Okay, grandpa.” She gets up. ”Just, stay with me here; You get to this place, this point in the game that you can’t get past, unless you’ve done everything right, only you have no way of knowing what the right way is, so you have to start all over, it’s a pain, but-” She fall silent.

“But what?”

“But what if it’s like that? Usually it’s this little thing that’s meant to be played different, a specific coin you have to get or some stupid thing like that.”

“We’re avatars?”

“No, just, we should try doing it like the first time, exactly like it, only pay more attention, or maybe repetition is the key in itself, maybe it’ll shake something loose.”

“Repeat the day?”

“Yes.”

He gets up, eyes distant. 

”Exactly like it was the first time?” He asks.

She thinks he looks scared, but is too sold on her own idea to take it in. She nods. He’s quiet for a bit before his face gains resolve. 

”Okay.” He says. 

 

#  **XVII**

At first it’s okay. He gets up and gets to Gypsy’s. She consistently refuses to do him any favors but he tries to make her anyway and fails according to script, and he even has to pay to use her phone when calling a tow-truck which of course costs eighty bucks. He can’t bring himself to be pissed about it this time, what’s the point? He still has to act like he is though. And he has to be a jerk to Kirk. He doesn’t want to yell at him anymore, and feels pretty bad about it when he does. 

But it’s not until Luke enters the equation that things turn really difficult for him, he can barely get through the first conversation with him. His uncle is mostly amused, but that’s just at that point in time, and Jess is cursed with the knowledge of how much worse it’s going to get, and that he is the one who is going to have to make it that way. 

He thought it would be too hard to remember how he acted, what he said, especially with other people than the significant ones. But it’s not. He and Rory did do a walkthrough of the day on the bridge the night before, which probably helped his memory but that’s not all; He might have no fire power behind his words this time around, but they’re still right there; frequently used tools, cards worn from play, like extra limbs, and that makes it worse, he has to keep from cringing at himself when he claims he doesn’t know what Gypsy’s talking about even if the phrase comes as naturally as breathing. 

 

She has trouble remembering her lines. Turns out when you repeat the same day - and especially if you try to do so faithfully - a number of times, those times will blur together, like a memory of a memory of a memory. It’s hard remembering exactly what words you used, when and how you said them. So, it’s apparent to her that even if she doesn’t directly lie to her mother, and her mother would probably know if she did anyway, she too is very much a part of this family that, for all their talking, doesn’t tell it like it is. 

And she has a tummy ache. She hasn’t had one before and wasn’t lying about the Cherry Danish, it is what she’s in the mood for every time. So why is she in pain? Then she realizes where she’s going, that she’s nervous. She’s making her way to Weston’s. What is she upset about? Not hitting her marks? Him not hitting his, or not being there? Just seeing him? 

She sees him in the corner of her eye when she’s ordering, and he looks up, same gesture, different expression, calmer, more serious, and she finds herself wondering if it’s the same book in front of him, and if it matters.  

“I’m leaving.” He says, and it hurts, even if it’s just words he’s supposed to say. 

Seems ridiculous, especially after everything, that something that’s to be expected can break her heart. It hurt the last time also, but the shock and anger of seeing him covered it up then. Now he’s gone and she has to pull herself from being frozen, surprised at how authentic it is. And that’s it; she has the belly ache from knowing exactly how this day ends. Expecting the worst is really unpleasant if you can’t hope for the best at the same time.

And at Babette’s she’s really lying, even if she didn’t think of it like that the first time. Not that she blames herself, one has to lie to Babette, and Patty for that matter, it’s just basic survival skills. But Lorelai... And her mother in turn assists her in covering up the entire thing, to help, or because she wants it to be true; Rory’s fine. Lorelai wants her to be fine. So much for her always expecting Rory to follow her cues, it really does go two ways, no getting around that.

“You still stuck on him, honey?”

Yes.

“No.”

And they believe her, they choose to.

 

Back at Luke’s he’s realizing that as far as his mother is concerned, it’s actually kind of a successful interaction, even with his low-key snark.

“This place is great, reminds me of New York.”

“How?”

“You know.”

“Neither one is in space.” 

He has to stop a chuckle, that he feels a desperate need to let out, and misses Luke all of a sudden, even if he’s right there. The autopilot thing is useful though, because he’s intensely distracted by what comes next. 

He’ll try to get out, Luke’ll ask him to stay, for them to conspire together, like they’re allies. That’s how he sees them, and now Jess will have to ruin that.

“This is your problem. You help people whether they want it or not.” He has to say the words even if he doesn’t want to, doesn’t feel them. His voice is softer than the first time, so he actively makes it harsher. “You have to fix everything. You have to fix everyone. You think it makes you a good guy? It just makes you a pain in the ass.” 

It’s true only in the most negative sense. There’s no need to see it that way, he’s just trying to avoid responsibility. He’s so ashamed of himself. 

“You make it so that when people fail you, you get to feel like the martyr and they have to feel like they not only screwed up, but also disappointed you.” 

They. I. I disappointed you, didn’t want to, did anyway. I’m sorry. 

“You get involved and you make everything worse.” 

He braces himself for the last part, the worst part. The direct intention to do damage. He didn’t think about it like that the first time, but now; frequently used weapons, he’s a weapon, nothing but a sharp edge. 

“No one is asking for your help. No one wants your help.” He has to look away, turns sooner than he did before, has to. “Focus on your own life and leave everyone else alone.”

He’s pretty badly bent when he gets to the bookstore, slipping down an aisle, sitting down on the floor, seems natural to do so, hide, even if he is to be found. He stares at the pages of the book he’s chosen, trying to rest in the few minutes of peace he’ll be allowed here. 

She comes in and looks at him with soft eyes and he wants to hold her, but instead he has to get up and get out even if he’s screaming at himself to stay. Stupid, stupid Jess. He’s convinced at that; Repeating all of your mistakes is the ultimate accountability, penalty. Every action an admission. Getting to change nothing, knowing you should, no apologies allowed. He gets up and looks at her as he passes - her face serious, unmistakingly wounded - and tries to convey it all. But apparently it’s what you wind up doing that matters, not how you feel inside while doing it.

He sits around outside of Gypsy’s for a while, out of sight to not piss her off. It’s so incredibly tempting to just stay out of sight, not terrorize Gypsy, stay out of Lorelai’s path, but he’s not allowed. 

“A man who has done nothing but support you and try to help you.” 

The first time he met her he had her pegged. Screwed up any chance of them getting along, ever, obviously, that’s what he does, but he’s right about her, right about Luke, right about them. Not that it matters, they are adults, and in this way they really ought to focus on, manage their own lives; He’s too busy mismanaging his.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Worn from play, he feels like being sick. 

He’s embarrassed speaking Rory’s name, it’s too big for his mouth.

“Wow, second "Rory" in ten seconds. You sure have Rory on the brain. I wonder why that is. Are you still hung up on her Jess? Is that why you came back?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Good. Because she is over you. She has moved on and she is very happy.”

It hurts, even if it is a lie, if in no other way than about her ability to move on. But then, it’s over, and he gets to hide again.

 

The fundraiser is easy, and that is a problem. Arguing with her grandparents, putting a damper on Lorelai’s and Jason’s night is far from ideal; but she doesn’t want this anymore either. This existence of being comfortable to everyone but herself. She’s stuck in this vice, for some reason it didn’t feel like that before, only this time, when she knows what to do, what she has to. But she’s come too far in this horror of a day, better see it through, test the theory.

In the car ride home Lorelai goes on about the evening. She listens and agrees but feels sick with being nervous about the big showdown, and wants to roll down a window. 

When they’re walking to the festival it’s getting harder to keep her tone right. It’s dangerous acting with her mother who inevitably, instinctively, knows when something is off. She gets to feel relieved for a few minutes when they split up and then nervous again. Midst her unease she’s still worried she might start laughing or something when reenacting this whole ridiculous tragedy. It’s like theater, or like role playing to a child, she tells herself, you have to commit to it. 

But she has no more time to think about it because he shows up as he’s supposed to, looking both tame and wild at the same time, caged.

 

He feels in pieces when walking from Gypsy’s, but does anyway, keeping it together through sheer obstinacy. And then he sees her and he’s more lost than ever. All he wants, needs, is to tell her right there and then that he’s dying just being himself, how he can’t stand being this person, living in this wretched skin for another second, but it’s not what they agreed on. Instead he stands, frozen, while she takes the lead. Once she starts running it’s easy to follow, it’s what he always wanted to do anyway. But when they’re face to face, he sees she’s having real trouble with this. She hesitates, stutters. 

“I’ve thought about this moment a lot.” There’s a pause, a jagged breath. “What would you say to me I ever saw you again? You just took off, no note, no call-”

Her voice breaks and she stares at him with a horrified expression, like she’s the lost one. It’s that frayed expression again, but he doesn’t get angry this time. He’s the one who caused it.

Without thinking he mouths the word nothing at her.

“-nothing!” She echoes. “How could you explain that? And then a year. No word. No possible excuse, right? I have imagined hundreds of scenarios with a hundred last parting lines, and I am actually very- I wanna see which way this is going to go.”

He assumed he would feel silly, artificial repeating the same stupid moves, lines, and he sort of does, asking her to sit down, stalling. But then he gets to say the only true words he’s spoken the entire day, the only thing that’s still true, after everything, and it’s like he can breathe again first when he does.

“I love you.” The words come out softer, more resigned, but yeah, still true.

He allows himself a deep breath, but then he has to go. His feet seem stuck and he has to jerk himself loose. 

As he turns she speaks. She’s not supposed to.

“Why?”

He freezes momentarily but pushes himself to move again in case the word was involuntarily spoken. He gets nowhere before her hands grasp the collar and side of his jacket turning him towards her. He stares helplessly at her while the seconds pass and they drift further from the path they’re meant to follow.

What do you mean why? Isn’t it obvious? Because you’re like me. Only powerful enough to be kind. Because you’re smart, and brave enough to trust it. Because you get me, see me despite me being at odds with more or less everyone who cares about you, because your heart is fearless like that. Because you make me feel soft and like I want to be sweet to you, and I haven’t felt that since I was a child and that was so long ago and it’s probably why I’m so bad at it, but I still think I need to hold on to it to survive. 

He shrugs.

“I just always have. I think I have since the first time I met you.”

He doesn’t know the rules, maybe there are none, maybe it’s not too late. He grasps her hands to loosen their grip on him, a vain attempt to leave, but she just tangles their fingers together. 

He looks at her face and finds her eyes on him seconds before she seizes his mouth with hers. 

Moments pass while his head processes what’s happening. His lips already knows and opens to hers, his hands are way ahead of him and around her waist, pulling her closer. Then the entirety of him catches on. And once he has her pressed to him, once he’s kissing her, once he gets it, there’s no way he’s letting it stop. The only fucking true thing. He makes a sound without meaning to. She pulls back her face to catch her breath and he follows, hand up around her neck to hold her in place, and her grasp around his waist and shoulder tightens, like she’s holding on to him for support. 

It’s first then he thinks about where they are, how this must seem, and he opens his eyes, slightly, reluctantly, sees figures around them, a few faces turned towards them, can’t identify any. He still makes space between their lips.

“We should move.” He says, and she nods, oddly enough without widening the space, like she doesn’t really care either way. 

It falls on him to navigate them somewhere better, more private, which under the circumstances is damn near impossible. He finds somewhere though, a space behind the gazebo which Kirk has missed bedazzling, he leads them there between kisses, looks as little as possible, but when he does he sees her eyes are trustingly, stubbornly closed. 

As soon as he has her in place he kisses her until he hears her every breath.

“Sorry.” She mumbles. “I ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that word when you’re kissing me.” He whispers back.

He’s missed this, wanted it for so long, it’s been locked behind every door he’s been able to close, now they’re each off their hinges. Her hands sneak under his jacket and into his hair and he holds her, utterly unable to care about their surroundings. His heart pounds in his chest so hard it hurts and it’s still the best he’s ever had. Her rapid breath is on his cheek and there are little notes of her voice in it. 

This time, this day, all day, he’s faced what a piece of crap he is, paid for it in pain, and now he gets to kiss her, to show her he loves her; it’s nothing short of a miracle, and he’s weak at the knees from the humbling thought. To repeat all moves and still have it turn out differently. It could be that they’ve had a chance to talk, but it could also be the unavoidable different timings of everything, the fact that he waited an extra second to go. Now he would be happy even if this was the last moment he ever lived. 

She twists her face to the side in a gasp that sound like a sob.

“My mom.”

“Shit.” He freezes, suddenly terrified Lorelai’s seeing them. 

Her breath is a shaky laugh, and he’s more relieved by the sound than any words she could have uttered. He smiles, holds her face close.

“You have to go.”

She kisses him again with no apparent intention to leave.

“I don’t have to.” She breathes, fingertips inside the rim of his t-shirt neck.

It’s seductive because it’s true, they don’t have to play by their rules anymore, but now that he has her open to that possibility, he remembers the money in his pocket, Luke. Shit, Luke. They always did have terrible timing.

“We should.” He still drags his lips against hers, not wanting to stop. “I have to apologize to Luke.”

She pulls back as best she can and frowns at him.

“You don’t have to.” Her tone is soft.

“Yeah, I do.”

Her eyes at that moment is a sight to behold; warm blue summer sky. He swallows. She kisses him again, tenderly, and it still makes his heartbeat pick up its’ pace. She holds still against him for a few moments.

“Okay.” She finally whispers. “Go be good.”

They maneuver out of their spot with some difficulty, partly because the reluctance to on both parts, partly because at some point they have to take inventory of people watching them. He recognizes some of the people throwing glances their way but can’t place them, she smiles a bit at someone, looking a bit guilty, apologetic, he thinks, consequences or none, old habits die hard. 

“So, this was a bust.” She mumbles, while they walk towards the diner.

He pulls her into a kiss right there. A quick, but decisive one.

“No.” He says.

She smiles.

“I’m going for the burgers.”

“See you tomorrow.” He says, and doesn’t even bother correcting himself.

He looks after her as she disappears back down the street, and then takes a breath walking into the diner. Luke is putting chairs up, and looks at him as he enters, then goes on working. He resists the urge to lean on the door frame, to put his hands in his pockets, but he does pull out the money and places them on a table.

“I never asked for your help, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.” He starts.

Luke stops, looks at him and nods. Seems it’s easy with people who are always looking to give you another chance. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“And I lied, there are plenty of people who depends on you. But here’s the thing: Liz is pretty reliant on you for everything, so you’re probably gonna have to pry the power to make her own stupid decisions from her cold dead hands.”

Luke laughs.

“But I want you to know that you’re not wasting your breath on me. I’m listening.”

Luke points to the money.

“So…?”

“So I don’t need ‘em today, but I might ask you for help tomorrow.”

Luke looks at him for a second, slightly puzzled. Then he reaches out and takes the money.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Jess asks.

Luke nods slowly.

“Of course.”

 

#  **XVIII**

When she wakes up, she’s completely disoriented, but there’s a light tap at her window. Where is she? When. She sits up. It’s cold. The same day, another tap at the window. She tosses off the covers and goes to look out. Jess is on her porch. Yesterday. The last time. It all comes back to her and her pulse picks up. 

He turns to see her look out at him and gestures towards the door. She heads there, the window is broken, and a Lane-shaped pile of blankets is on the couch. She opens the door with a finger to her lips. He nods and takes a step into the hallway, but it really makes little difference, temperature-wise. He closes the door behind himself anyway and stands in front of her. They look at each other in silence for seconds, each waiting for the other to speak, act. His mouth twitches, from holding back a smile, she thinks, and he shakes his head, eyes shining. She drags her hand through her hair, just now thinking about how she looks in her pyjamas. 

And just like that, he kisses her, leans her to the wall, like he’s just finishing a sentence, and she doesn’t care anymore; not about her hair, not about it being yesterday once more. She feels herself care too little as a matter of fact, so she pushes them off the wall and sidles them in through the corridor to her room as discreetly as she can manage. He tastes like toothpaste, like morning. 

Once they’re inside, having closed the door behind them, she pushes his jacket off him and pulls him onto the bed, first to sit, then to lie down on top of her. They haven’t been like this since that horrible night an eternity ago. Then she couldn’t trust him, shouldn’t have either. Now? They’re beyond trust. They might be taken by an outside force as far as she’s concerned and she still couldn’t bring herself to mind right now. 

There’s freedom in breaking the rules this radically and for some reason it makes her bolder. She kisses him deeply, blindly, takes his cues and pushes a few of her own. He leans on the side of her, dragging a hand down her body, and up her shirt grabbing her waist. She sounds like someone else, still half asleep, no defences up, and she reaches under his shirt to get to his skin too. He exhales sharply when she touches him and slips his hand further up her shirt to her breast. She doesn’t even try holding back a moan and thinks that this is it, now anything can happen, in fact it should. But it doesn’t. He strokes her once, holds still against her breathing for a few moments, then pulls back, leaning his forehead to hers, removes his hand from under her shirt and puts it to her face. She reluctantly opens her eyes. 

He smiles at her.

“I was gonna talk to you.”

“I thought you were.”

His silent laugh is a gust of air on her face. His fingers trail her lips and his eyes follow. She cranes her neck to get closer and he has to kiss her again. He strokes her hair, as it turns out a way to holds her in place when he pulls back, eyes glittering.

“Your mother?”

“Not a word yesterday, people were probably afraid to tell her.”

“And today?”

“Asleep.” She responds reluctantly, wiggles her head free and nudges his nose with hers.

He looks at her. She sighs.

“Waking up as we speak.” She admits.

He nods, chest still visibly rising and falling.

“What were you going to talk to me about?” She asks.

“I don’t remember.”

She laughs, loudly, and he stifles it with his mouth. She kisses him until she can’t hold off the thoughts of Lorelai finding him in her room and the subsequent disaster anymore, and pushes him away.

“Guess it’s lucky these open all the way.” He gestures to the windows.

She gets up and straightens her clothes, pulls on her cardigan. He does the same with his jacket.

“Weston’s?” He asks.

“Weston’s.” She confirms.

He grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. Then she has to leave to stop Lane from getting pressure wounds, closes the door around him and assumes he makes his way out his preferred way. 

All in all it’s exceedingly easy hitting her marks, but then again she’s not trying to like last time. She just dances through her moves, banters with Lorelai about the window, letting logistics with Lane work out on their own. Nervous, but in a good way, just looking forward to the next movement. When she arrives at Weston’s she doesn’t even bother with her order, just heads straight to his table. He’s there alright, no book, just sitting, looking at her, smiling a little. She leans on the counter.

“No Cherry Danish?” He says.

She shrugs.

“I seem to be in the mood for something different this time.”

“Huh.”

“Yup.”

“What are you in the mood for then?” 

“I can’t find it on the menu.”

His smile widens.

“Maybe if we check in the back.” He grabs his jacket off his chair and opens the door to her.

She slips out with him and they head to the back of the building, he walks quickly and she has to half jog to keep up. The famous dumpsters behind Weston’s should provide excellent shelter, not that they wind up using much of it. 

They’re almost there when she reaches for his hand. He stops promptly at the touch, turns, and so she tumbles into his arms which he takes advantage of and kisses her right there. She puts her arms around his neck and responds with enthusiasm, shaking from adrenaline and laughter. He puts his hand around her waist and pulls her closer to the corner, without any real dedication to it, it mainly just erases space between them. Not that she minds, and before she knows it she’s in the position to lean him him on the wall behind him, right around the corner, and uses it. 

They stay there, in their hiding place only in the broadest sense of the term, and she feels a little like a child covering her eyes and saying she’s invisible. She likes being the one doing the pinning this time though, she had forgotten how accommodative he can be when he’s enjoying himself, all responsive, communicative, just with no words. She feels lost in time after a while, maybe the way she’s supposed to under the circumstances, but there’s no vertigo to it, no panic, despite the loss of direction, more like the opposite. He probably has somewhere to be, but it’s expected he ignores it. She does too and will be late for Babette’s. The truth is, she doesn’t want to go, and the thought of another fundraiser tonight exhausts her. She puts it out of her mind for the time being and relishes this instead. Making up, out, for lost time, she tells herself, maybe that’s what they’re here for. 

Eventually it’s him that slows them down, turning their kisses shorter, more chaste. She looks into his eyes and has to believe it; He always has. He might’ve since the first time he met her. She allows herself to think about how long it’s been for her, it’s hard to get to the thoughts, they’re covered in dust from being locked up in a messy storage more or less always, inaccessible to everyone, including herself. 

“I should go save Luke.” He mumbles.

She should tell him, say it.

“Okay.” She licks her lips to keep the last of him.

“Bookstore?”

She checks her watch. In, like, an hour, tops.

“Bookstore.” She answers and backs away.

She runs to Babette’s to get some hot cocoa and get caught up with Lorelai and the latest on the fundraiser, she even has time for saying she’s fine. But can’t, won’t stay long, has to get back to town. Lorelai halts her before she leaves.

“You sure about the fine-part, hun? You seem a little absent-minded.”

She has to hold back a too broad smile.

“I promise.” And she’s out the door.

When she gets to the bookstore he’s not where he’s supposed to be, so she sits there instead and reads the backs of the books. She doesn’t give Andrew her requests. It’s nothing out of the ordinary about her or anyone else for that matter treating the store like a library, there are a couple of so called customers reading. 

After a while the door chimes and he rounds the corner of the shelf.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Her face splits in a silly smile.

He sits down next to her and turns over the book in her lap, supposedly reading its’ back while he runs his fingers up and down her lower arm. She forces a few words for the etiquette if nothing else.

“How’s it going today?”

“Great. I’m so cheery I’m freaking people out.”

“Me too.”

He looks at her and smiles, she mirrors it, and then the smiles are gone, and they’re neck deep in each other again. 

She doesn’t miss the fact that the seem to pick up where they left off, not just at Weston’s, this morning, or the night before, but before he left. Everything they learned about each other when they were together comes back in flashes and it’s like it was never forgotten. Perhaps it wasn’t at all, she thinks, she remembers dreaming about it the first few weeks after he left, before she punished herself enough to make it go away. Now it seems like she’s longed for him for nine months. Pining, after all. Her throat stings a bit midst all her euphoria. 

There they are, sitting on the floor, legs tangled to get as close as possible and try not to make any kind of noise; people treat the store as a library in the being silent sense as well. It’s getting harder keeping quiet though, even if the floor is hopelessly uncomfortable, and they both have to come up for air at the same time. Her hands are in his hair and his in hers, one at her neck, one behind her jawbone. He laughs, quietly, keeping their faces together.

“What?”

“I feel stupid.”

“How so?”

He closes his eyes.

“‘Cause I’m happy.”

She bites her lip, strokes her hand down the side of his face, wants to tell him she knows how he feels, that it’s mutual, but gets sidetracked by that same instinct. 

“Maybe this is the ultimate test. Us not really wanting to leave.” She whispers instead.

He’s watching her mouth.

“Come here.”

He kisses her, mumbles against her lips.

“I don’t care.”

She thinks that’s the point, and then she doesn’t think anymore. 

Once they finally manage to separate themselves from each other, she’s beyond late, and thanks her lucky star for her mother’s otherworldly concept of time. 

When she gets home, Lorelai looks at her funny though. It’s unusual for her to be late, to not be the one bugging her mother about leaving on time. She hurries into her formal wear and skips her comments about their tardiness. 

The night passes quickly but she doesn’t eat much which prompts questions about her health from her grandparents. She feels a veil away from her physical reality, just buzzing with anticipation, working on excuses, lost in thought. So that it’s first on the drive back that she notices the silence on Lorelai’s part. No comments about how weird their family is, how weird Jason’s family is, about boring secretaries. 

Rory gets to feel silly when she tries selling the lie about meeting up with Lane, knowing full well she’s on her way back to Yale. Lorelai parks outside their house.

“Lane, huh?”

“Yup.”

They exit the car.

“Okay. I guess you’d tell me if you were going to do something else, see someone else. I’d know right?”

“Of course you would.”

“Great. Just making sure.” Lorelai walks up around the front of the vehicle. “‘Cause miss Patty came running up to me this afternoon with this story about one of her students having seen you behind Weston’s this morning with - wait for it - Jess! And not only that the two of you were together but that you, to summarize a pretty graphic description, looked intensely friendly.”

Rory stares at the ground, guilty and angry about this town being one big National Enquirer.

“Gross.” She mumbles.

“Right.” Lorelai looks at her.

She shuffles the gravel in the driveway with her foot.

“Well, I should go.” She says.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you later.” The words are a bit too slow for her mother.

She still can’t stop herself. This day.

“Don’t wait up.”

She saunters down the street until she’s out of sight from the house. Then she runs. Can’t help herself. 

She feels bad about her mother, and there’s something else, a thought forming, but she can’t see its’ shape just yet, and she’s in too much of a rush to let it finish. 

The bonfire is lit when she arrives and she stops, looking around the square in search of him. She spots him by the gazebo, eyes already on her. He smiles when she sees him and nods to the side, towards Luke’s. She heads that way and they stop on the sidewalk outside the Soda Shoppe, facing each other, and he looks like she feels. His eyes take her from head to toe, and then back to her face.

“You’re pretty.” He says, with a shrug.

She smiles like an idiot.

“Where do we go?”

He looks to Luke’s, the light is on in the apartment.

“Not there. Luke is home.”

The corner opposing the diner is empty.

“What happened to your car?”

“I moved it. Taylor’s been coming in complaining about some parking violation, I figured today’s as good as any to do something about it. Luke was real helpful moving it around the other side of the building.” He pauses. “We could go there.”

“Things seems to work out well.”

“I think so.”

They go around the building to the back, and find the car parked there. He stops by the vehicle and removes the key from his pocket. He looks at it for a moment before unlocking the back door. He opens it and holds it up for her, serious all of a sudden. She feels awkward to match his apparent mood, she’s never sat in the backseat of any car with the explicit intention they share in this moment. She’s embarrassed that she hasn’t and that she’s about to, funny, how that works out. 

She slides in, before anyone spots her. He does too and closes the door behind them, remains on his side however, and looks at her, waiting. 

She looks out the windows. Not many people pass by here, but she still feels exposed. Damn Taylor Doose and his beautification committee without which there would be a more comfortable number of busted street lights in this town. She gestures at the windows.

“How do you-?” She starts.

“Oh. Here-” 

He springs into action and leans towards her, unbuttoning her coat. She freezes. He slides it off her shoulders, leans across her and rolls down the window slightly, sticking a piece of the garment out the crack and rolling it up again. He slides back to his side and repeats the maneuver with his own jacket. She clenches her jaws to stop her lip from trembling, it’s chilly but she’s pretty sure that’s not the reason it’s not behaving. 

”Smooth.” She manages, chuckle in her voice. 

He looks back at her and shoots her a rather tight smile, something apologetic on his face. She suddenly has to do something about this soberness that’s come over them. She closes the distance between them and kisses him. He’s wearing his hoodie and is warm and soft and significantly assuring, just in his physical presence. She presses herself to his side and he puts his arms around her. Without opening her eyes she mumbles:

“How do I even sit?”

She feels his lips tighten in a smile.

“However you want.”

“Okay.”

She pulls back to her spot and gestures at him to look away. He obliges. She wrangles out of her shoes and pantyhose and crambles the latter into her coat pocket. Then she takes a breath and climbs onto his lap, one leg on each side, her hands on his shoulders. He looks at her, more than a little startled, she thinks, but it wouldn’t take much for his face to appear that way. She tries to keep her expression steady and waits for him to catch on. His hands move around her waist and up her back to her neck and face, pulling it to his. She feels his chest rise and fall before he even starts kissing her. 

It’s fast for her now, falling into it. Forgetting how they’re even here, any worry at any consequence, where they are. It’s just the two of them in a small space, in the dark, and she can’t feel the cold anymore. 

He kisses her in any way, every way she likes, his mouth moving down her jaw to her neck, and he leans his head to the side to receive the same treatment from her, but stubbornly keeps his hands on top of her clothes. 

She reaches back and takes his hands, tangling their fingers together and searches for his eyes in the dark. She finds them and holds his gaze, listens to their breathing in the silence before placing his hands on her knees, right under the hem of her dress. There’s a shiver through him and his muscles tighten to balance her before his hands slide up her skirt. She hears her own breathing, too loud, she thinks, and presses her mouth to his to dampen it, or at least forget about it, but it just gets sharper when his tongue is involved. His grip tightens around her thighs and pulls her closer to him. He’s hard and she feels herself lose control, has never been this close to anyone. She whimpers, and reaches between them, for the button on his pants. He gasps, and one of his hands enfolds hers, stopping her. 

He keeps kissing her, softer. She blushes, but tries not to be too defensive about it. Instead she responds to the kisses and slows her breathing, until it’s calmer. She reaches back to her zipper pulling it down.

”Judith mentioned an offering, as in sex being what? A pagan blood sacrifice?” She says it casually, a bit amused, while peeling her dress from her shoulders. His eyes follow her fingers. 

”Some use sex ritualistically-” he says. ”-but I think she was hung up on you being a virgin.” He kisses her neck, hand sliding down the back of her bare shoulder.

”What does she know?” She mutters, can’t not.

He pulls back and looks at her, crooked smile. She sighs.

”Fine, full disclosure, I am.”

His smile broadens.

”Well, I think it’s more about your first time being a one time thing, according to their reasoning there’s power in that, and the risk of pain, fear of it, it all goes to charge it.” He strokes her cheek with one hand, her thigh with the other.

”Do you want me?”

He stops smiling, his lower lip falling slightly. Then he nods.

“Yes.”

She swallows.

“Well, I want you too.” Wow, saying it out loud is like, some kind of magic in itself, but she still has to force the words that follow. “So I think we should… try it.”

He looks away and slowly shakes his head. She bites the inside of her cheek.

“Why not?”

“I told you.”

“You don’t want her to control anything, but it’s an invalid argument. Today she doesn’t even know I exist, she doesn’t even know about any of this.”

“Doesn’t matter, it would be her idea.”

“But don’t you see that she’s still pulling your strings if you abstain from something you want because of her?”

He presses his lips together. 

“And I’m pretty sure we would have thought of this idea with or without her, might have before we even went to New York.”

He looks back at her and smiles, pulls her down for a kiss and then nods.

“Okay, fine.”

She laughs.

“Just the words any girl wants to hear when she offers herself.”

She pulls her dress down off her shoulders, crumbling it around her waist and adjusts her seat. He takes an audible breath and stares at her neck.

“Not here, not now.” He says.

She frowns.

“I’m actually starting to feel a little rejected, here.” 

He raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if I don’t think the backseat of my broken down car is good enough for you.” His tone is light, and he kisses her neck, mumbling. “Maybe for making out, the occasional petting session, maybe-” 

She laughs. He goes on:

“But sex, especially the first time kind, can turn out bad if you’re cold, and you rush it, and if you’re somewhere uncomfortable.”

“What is this, the back of a Volkswagen?”

He laughs against her shoulder. She continues.

“But if there’s such a risk of it being bad, wouldn’t it be worse someplace nice? Through sheer contrast.”

“Stop tempting me with your valid ideas.” His voice vibrates against her skin.

“Stop being so obstinate and I’ll leave you be.”

She presses against him, slipping her hand in under his t-shirt and kissing him. He responds intensely at first, tongue and hands pushing against her skin, his grip on her waist hardening, fingers lightly pinching the elastic of her bra. But it all stagnates and he stills underneath her.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t think it’s gonna work.”

She sighs. 

“I know you don’t, but you have no way of knowing.”

He remains still and silent. Suddenly her cheeks burn with harm that she has to push this, she pulls back and gestures.

“Seriously: it’s something that might actually work. And even if it doesn’t we both want it.”

He stares intently at the car’s upholstery.

“Why are you fighting it?” She asks.

He raises his face to her and looks her straight in the eyes.

“Because I’ve already tried it.”

She’s utterly confused, can’t hold back a stray laugh.

“What? Sacrificing a virgin?”

“I didn’t have one lying around, not that I would’ve thought to.”

He’s still stalling.

“Then what?”

“More along the lines of a general blood sacrifice-” He starts and interrupts himself, must realize it’s a bad, bad thing to say, under any circumstances. “I jumped off a bridge.”

She stiffens in place, feels the cold all of a sudden, can’t even manage any kind of response. He looks torn, forces words he’s clearly not in possession of yet.

“I was desperate. I had to know what was what.”

“So you jumped off a bridge.”

“I woke up the next time, not a scratch on me.”

“From jumping off a bridge?”

“Yes.” 

She stares at him, still trying to absorb what he’s saying. He goes on, attempting to clarify it himself, to stay on whatever track he has chosen.

“Physical alterations obviously don’t stick. Regeneration has to be a thing. Which means this witchy hocus pocus is out.”

“You’d rather kill yourself than come talk to me?” The words come out the same moment she thinks them. She starts collecting herself from him, dragging her dress back up.

“I didn’t kill myself.” He protests.

“You jumped off a bridge! Pretty clear intent.”

“I needed out. Figured it would wake me up.”

“Or kill you.” She pulls the last of her skirt from the folds between their bodies. “Death was a closer option for you than talking to me.” 

She climbs off him and tries fixing her dress, breath sharp, pulse still hard between her legs, but with just as much anger as lust now. Her throat stings and she swallows again and again to keep from crying. He reaches for her, puts a hand on her wrist. She wants to shake it off. But here they are, beyond trust. She doesn’t have a choice on needing him, maybe she never did, which of course is why she’s so angry.

“It didn’t occur to me that I could ask for help with this.” His voice is rugged. “That I could ask for help. Full stop.” He corrects himself. “I was still in this frame of mind where I had to stay away from you.”

“So you killed yourself.”

“I’m right here.” He says, pushing the words through his lips with some effort.

She stares at him, fire still in her chest. He knows because he tried. It didn’t stick, but it might just as well have. He might be gone. She could’ve woken up the next day and he would’ve been dead. She feels sick. Her skin prickles, and she notices she’s shaking. He slides closer to her in the backseat and holds out an arm. Beyond trust. She starts crying, leans on him with her first convulsion. He cradles her and she holds onto him, wetting his t-shirt at the neck and chest with her tears. 

She’s lost in it for a long while, then he pulls her up and kisses her, suddenly, passionately, his face wet also. She responds to it helplessly. Then he stops, holds their faces together, his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh, the back of her neck. She sniffles desperately, trying to get herself under control. When she finally does, she holds close to him for a few breaths.

“I didn’t go away.” He mumbles, repeats it, then pulls back a few inches and looks her in the eye. “But that means that it’s possible us sleeping together doesn’t change a thing.” He takes a breath. “You could wake up the same.” He stares at her and his point is suddenly clear.

“You mean I could… stay a virgin?”

She chews on her lip, considering it. The silence in the car is deafening. Sex and death. What would make it different as offerings considered? The french call it the small death. One of them you do together, the other alone, maybe not necessarily, though. But even stories in which people die together seem so lonely. Full of secrets, still. Can’t be a lot of magic to that, everything locked inside. She straightens in his grip. 

“There’s two of us, remember? And I suppose we could always jump off a building together if we get desperate enough, but I’m thinking we should try this first.”

He still shakes his head.

“It’s a big risk too.” His gaze travels her face. “Some things need to change you when you do them otherwise you go crazy. What if you go through the whole thing and wake up just the same. How would that feel?”

“You tell me.” Her response is immediate. “What was it like dying and not changing?”

“You don’t stay awake for death.”

“I’ve never lost my virginity before. I have no way of knowing what that’d be like.”

“That’s my point. You’re supposed to get to do it once. This isn’t your run of the mill first time.”

She laughs, bit of panic in her voice, can’t help it.

“Who’s is?”

He smiles at her, all tenderness. Sighs and strokes her cheek. Nods slowly. Then opens his mouth and speaks.

“Look. The physical thing isn’t all there is to it. Even if-” He interrupts himself, pulls her closer again, whispers for no real reason. “It would still have happened, done something to you. And if you decide you want it I’ll do it, no questions asked-” His expression gains heat. “And I’ll make it good for you.” He pauses, her heartbeat picks up again. “But you have to think about it, hard, first.”

She looks at him and feels his pull in her entire body, but she’s more sober now.

“What if I wake up just the same?” She mumbles, mostly to herself, to make it real. “I guess I have to think about it.”

“Yeah.”

They stay put for a while longer, bound by the small dark space filled with them. Take turns kissing each other, like a spell to lock everything else out. All talk is on their breaths between kisses. None of it concerns what just happened.

“Where are you staying tonight?” 

Their noses brush across each other as she tilts her head to the other side.

“Luke has a mattress for me.”

His lips move against her ear.

“I should go.” She mumbles while reluctantly easing out of a kiss.

“Okay.” He responds while pulling her into another.

Finally her eye catches the watch on the dashboard.

“Oh my god.”

She slides over to her side retrieving her pantyhouse from her pocket and wrangling back into them, in such a hurry she doesn’t even have time to force him to look the way. She turns her back on him.

“Zip me up.” She holds her hair up and he does. 

She reaches for her coat and it comes loose.

Lorelai is standing across the street. Her eyes finds Rory’s the moment the garment falls. 

“Shit.” Jess says, hands still on her shoulders.

“Seconded.” Rory mumbles breathlessly.

She turns, locks eyes with him in a quiet, helpless goodbye.

“Until next time.” She musters with a gallows smile.

He shakes his head, looking more than a little impressed.

“What can I do?” He reaches for her coat which she hands to him without really thinking about it.

“Nothing.”

He opens the door anyway and gets out, holding it open for her. She gets out and he hangs the coat over her shoulders. She drags her hand over his while passing him, and walks across the street towards Lorelai.

Her mother looks pale, serious, and still in cold anger, she doesn’t look directly at her but stares down Jess instead. Rory steps up on the sidewalk and turns back toward him; he’s loosening his own jacket, slips into it and slams the door shut. He looks at her with a nod and walks back to Luke’s. She waits for him to enter the diner before turning to Lorelai.

“Mom-” She starts, but Lorelai just puts up her hand.

“Don’t even talk to me right now.” She starts and walks back to the square.

For a second Rory actually contemplates not following her, it makes no difference anyway, but she’s been tormenting Jess to do better, it seems only fair she cleans up her own messes too. Or tries to. She runs to catch up.

“When should I talk to you then?” She pants when she does.

Lorelai walks on quietly.

“Mom, stop!”

She doesn’t stop.

”When can I talk to you? When could you possibly be ready to hear me out on this?” Her volume falters on the last words, as does her pace and she can only muster a mumble. “‘Cause I can’t imagine you being ready within any timeframe when you still remember this.” 

Lorelai spins around.

“Are you really being clever with me right now? Yesterday you didn’t want to deal with him, today I find you in the backseat of his car doing god know what! And I’m guessing that thing behind Weston’s really happened, huh? What could possibly have happened between then and now for things to turn this way? What kind of explanation could there possibly be?”

Rory looks for one frantically, despite knowing full well there isn’t one she can share with Lorelai. 

“You lied to me!”

“So?” She shouldn’t engage, but she feels so helpless. “Isn’t that what we do in this family? You’re lying to everyone but me! Even Jason! Just tell grandpa, grandma about him, tell Luke!”

Lorelai looks completely blindsided by the attack, and she should, for her, today is just an ordinary day.

“Why should I tell Luke?”

“Why haven’t you?”

For a second there’s something vulnerable in her mother’s face, but it’s over so quickly, and she dives back into the fight with increased force.

“This is not about me! You’ve been lying to me all day!”

Rory stops promptly, can’t think of a thing to say, and that unfinished thought from before returns. Lorelai is furious with her; It doesn’t matter, it’s just this one time. But it isn’t. It’s not just today she’s been lying to her mother. She’s been laying groundwork for this disaster for a long time.

“Have you lost your mind?” Lorelai has stopped too and takes a step towards her, gesturing back towards town. “He treated you like crap and then he left! What are you doing back with him?”

She watches her mother from somewhere far away, wordlessly.

“Well? You wanted to talk to me, so talk!”

Rory sighs.

“You wouldn’t understand.” The words slip out before she really has a chance to think about them.

“Thanks.” Lorelai says and walks off.

Once more Rory tries keeping up.

“Wait, mom, it’s not your fault! You don’t have all the facts.” 

I haven’t been honest with you when I should have been, so my honesty now won’t change anything. Maybe she has more in common with Jess, even Lane, than she thought.

“Wow. That’s quite an explanation. I don’t know the real him. I don’t think that rhetoric has changed at all since you got involved with him, you might wanna try something new.”

The words are meant as a jab - to Lorelai there’s nothing that can change her opinion, it’s her little girl who’s not seeing straight, that Rory is aware of - but she takes them to heart.

“You’re right, I should.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know what the problem is; he is, has been since he first showed up, he’s got you buying into his good intentions, that there’s a real person behind all his bullshit that only you can see - does any of this ring any bells?”

“Mom, no!” She says. 

He’s not the problem, she is, they are, he’s just the spark lighting the fuse. She doesn’t say that though. She has nothing more to say that won’t make it worse, and she doesn’t want to make it worse, today is all they have. It hurts to hear Lorelai go on like that and she doesn’t trust her voice for protesting further, anyway. She suddenly knows nothing will change her mother’s mind, that she woke up feeling this way and will continue to until it all starts all over again, meaning forever as far as she’s concerned. And for Rory it means she just has the one day to work with, to mend all damage, and she hasn’t handled things right at all. 

Rory slows her pace, walking discouraged the last bit up to their driveway. She stops by her car and starts rifling through her pockets.

“What are you doing?” Lorelai asks.

“Going back to Yale.”

Lorelai stares at her, disbelieving, angry.

“Fine.” She finally says.

Rory gets in her car and watches her mother walk into their house. She turns on the engine and drives off. She doesn’t go far. She just needed to stop Lorelai from worrying anymore tonight. She drives to Luke’s and parks behind Jess’s car. The town is empty by now. She walks along the sidewalk and looks up to the apartment above the diner. It’s dark, but she takes a chance anyway, worst case scenario she wakes up Luke and winds up driving back to Yale for no good reason. She picks up a few pieces of gravel and aims, tossing them at the window furthest from Luke’s bed. Then she walks over to the entrance and waits. 

About a minute passes before Jess appears from behind the curtain in the diner - hair on end, crooked t-shirt, pants pulled on but not buttoned - unlocking the door and letting her in. She enters and remains right inside the door while he locks it again behind her. Strange, this familiar space smelling of onion rings and dishcloth in the dark. He looks at her in the pale light from the street. 

“Can I stay?” She asks. “It won’t make any difference in the morning anyhow.”

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

“Like I care about that.” He leans in and pecks her lips. “What happened with your mom?”

“Exactly what I should’ve expected; I fought the law and the law won.”

He chuckles.

“Sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter. I think I figured something out tonight.”

“Wanna share?”

“Nope.” She takes a deep breath. “I wanna sleep.”

“Okay.”

He leads the way up to the dark apartment. They sneak inside, and she takes off her coat, laying it on the couch, then she peels off her dress and pantyhose putting them next to it. Luke is snoring in his bed and she glances his way.

“He’s an incredibly heavy sleeper.” Jess whispers from the mattress.

She looks at him, he keeps his eyes stubbornly on her face and she still feels naked in her underwear, strange, she had no such qualms less than an hour ago. He pulls his t-shirt off himself and holds it out for her. She accepts it, pulling it on gratefully, then gets on the mattress next to him. He keeps his pants on but holds out the blanket for her to get under. The mattress is thin and narrow but she leans on his chest and listens to his heartbeat until she falls asleep.

 

#  **XIX**

He wakes up above the diner, in Luke’s bed, alone, and it’s the day all over again. He still remembers her in his arms and allows himself a moment to acknowledge that as long as they are here, in this, they’ll never get to wake up together, whatever difference that may make. 

He gets up and gets down to the diner. He picks down chairs off tables and puts on coffee and thinks about her and how if he’d been successful getting out of this early, by leaving or offing himself, he never would have gotten to experience her half undressed in the back of his car, her looking at him softly again, holding her until she fell asleep. He wouldn’t have gotten to feel the awe of being forgiven by Luke. He would be dead, or gone and still stuck in the same way he was when he left this evening, the first time, seemingly an eternity ago. 

He doesn’t want to think about it but finally does; what him being gone, really gone, would mean to the people he loves. He thinks about how his uncle would be, maybe not broken, but more closed off, maybe finally hopeless. He can’t bring himself to think about her though, imagining any possible reaction, effect, just eats him up from the inside. Then he figures out that he really was gone, maybe not permanently, but nobody knew that, and he has to consider that some of those reactions weren’t hypothetical. 

He keeps working. Has trouble remembering why he’s doing what he’s doing right now, he just does. He preps the kitchen and lets Kirk in and greets Caesar when he arrives. 

Then he makes himself breakfast and sits at the counter ignoring everything but the coffee, waiting for Luke to arrive, taking inventory of every wound he has to try to heal this time, puzzling together the best way to do that, a schedule of sorts, it’s the only thing he can think to do that makes any sense under the circumstances. He’s tried staying away, going away, but it just makes him feel worse when everything stays the same, this, making the effort, has been the only thing providing any kind of peace.

 

She already knows why it’s so cold in here. She goes out to the living room before her mom has a chance to sit on Lane and ushers her into the kitchen, not even bothering to pester her about a window-fixing-guy. Lorelai still rants about Luke and Rory lets her, it’s one of the great pleasures of her life. She briefly considers urging her to tell everyone about Jason, but decides against it and Lorelai gets ahead of her anyway.

“What are you thinking about?”

She still doesn’t know what to say, but silence sets a tone too.

”I’m sure he didn’t freeze to death. Luke fixed it.”

She smiles a little bleakly at Lorelai and her attempt at comfort.

“I think so too.” She stares at the light in the oven.

”Are you okay?”

Honesty.

“No.” She sighs. “I don’t think so.”

Lorelai’s face when it’s serious or concerned is continuously scary to her, and she does her best at all times to avoid bringing it forth. Now it’s there, but she has to start doing something right at some point and today is all she has. The point is that you have to treat everyday as if it’s your last, or at least the last one you’ll ever experience.

“What’s going on?” Lorelai asks.

“A few things actually.” Rory stares at the light to not lose focus. “Not sure what to start telling you about.”

“Rory, look at me.” 

Lorelai is terrified, she can tell, and even if it hurts to be the one doing that to her, she’s sure she has to now. After all, it’s not like she’s pregnant, she’s not doing drugs, she’s not dropping out of school, she just wants to be frank with the person she’s supposedly closest to. 

“Is this about Jess?”

“Just partly.” 

She’s been elbow deep in solving this problem, puzzle, unlocking the door to freedom without knowing anything about the key. She’s been immersed in it, hasn’t thought about her mother’s perspective on this day. And then she looks Lorelai in the eye and needs to speak. 

“Mom, I loved him.”

Lorelai looks away.

“I know you did.” She mumbles immediately, almost defensively, like she can’t wait to get it out, over with.

“When he left I really had no time to think about it, to feel anything about it. And I was happy about that. Because I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Well, sometimes it’s good to not have to deal immediately.”

Rory shakes her head.

“But I never wanted to handle it, I just wanted to cut him away, like he never existed, like it never happened. And you can’t do that and stay okay.”

Lorelai’s face is twisted in empathy.

“Oh honey, I’m just sick to my stomach.”

“It’s not just him that hurt me.” 

This is where it gets difficult. Every inch of her screams in protest of what she’s about to say, it seems to go against the laws of nature for her to criticize Lorelai on any other level than a superficial one. She braces herself. 

“You did too.”

Lorelai frowns and she hesitates, is so scared. It’s not that her mother is without flaw, it’s that none of her flaws are worth arguing over. Really. Her mom is quick and mean and hilarious and Rory doesn’t want her to be any different, to change. She goes on.

“Not intentionally.” She adds. “You just… hated him so much, I had to hide everything about me that loved him from day one, I couldn’t show you any of that, share it with you, and when he left- that meant I couldn’t even be sad about it properly. I had to hide that too.”

Lorelai looks like she’s been struck. She stutters.

“I only ever-” She starts.

“I know. And I didn’t have to hide anything, it wasn’t the law or anything.” She sighs. “I chose to, so in a way I hurt myself too. I took the easy way out, not telling you the truth.”

It’s really herself she wants to change. She doesn’t want to be this person who denies herself all the stuff she’s entitled to, who hides from what she wants. 

Lorelai swallows. Rory continues.

“But I think I have to deal now, when I have the chance, so, I just, won’t avoid him today, okay? I might even talk to him. ‘Cause mom, despite everything he’s done, I still think he has a good side to him, more than just a side, the part of me that feels that hasn’t gone away. And I don’t need you to feel the same, I just need you to accept that I do and that there might be something to it.”

“Something to what?” Lane appears, wrapped in a blanket. “Why is it so cold?”

Lorelai stares at Rory, waiting for a cue, and she smiles.

“Something to my opinion of Jess-” She answers.

“Oh!” Lane goes. “Cute, awesome taste in music.”

“A bit simplistic perhaps, if you ask me, but I’ll take it.” Rory smiles. “And it’s cold in here because mom broke a window trying to lock it last night.”

“Well, call a guy.” Lane whines.

“What guy?” Lorelai says.

“A window-fixing guy.”

“If I do, Luke will have his feelings hurt, do you want that?

Lane shakes her head and pulls up a chair to the oven.

“The things we do for coffee.”

 

“What are you doing about your car?” Luke asks.

Jess loads the last dish into the washer and closes the hatch.

“I haven’t decided yet, thing is probably worth more in dismantled parts than it is kept together.”

“You talked to Gypsy yet?”

“Been here all morning.”

“I noticed. Why is that? Thought you’d be out of here like the roadrunner.”

“Can’t very well do that with a broken car.”

“Suppose not.”

The fact that he doesn’t ask further, doesn’t make fun of him for helping out, is a hint on how much he still expects from his nephew, in spite of everything. Jess smiles when going back to work.

“Do you need money?” Luke asks after a while.

“Obviously.” He answers right away. 

Best to do it before he has a chance to change his mind, play it safe with worn out cards. Practice makes okay, not great, but better. He turns back to face Luke, and goes on.

“Will I accept it from you? Not right now. Gotta figure out what I’m doing first.”

“Okay.”

The possibility of not just receiving what you’re given, but asking for it.

“I would accept some help moving the thing though, need to get it to Gypsy or at least around the corner so Taylor won’t give you a hard time about the parking.”

Luke frowns.

“Since when do you know about Taylor’s insane rules- since when do you even care?”

“I don’t. But he’s looking for excuses with you, it sucks.”

“Watch your mouth. And I am not scared of Taylor.”

Jess smiles again and doesn’t even try to hide it this time.

“So, we leave it?”

Luke sighs.

“No, I’ll help you. Just decide where it goes.”

“I’ll go talk to Gypsy.” He pulls on his jacket. “I’ll take my time too, give the car some time to bug Taylor.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

The conversation with Gypsy is quick. He already knows what’s wrong with the car - it needs a new carburetor - he doesn’t mind waiting, he’ll drop it by later. Then he heads to Weston’s. He sits at his table, switching between Piazza and Bartleby. The lines truth comes in with darkness and I know where I am, over and over, while waiting for her. He thinks about Kirk, and his futile yelling over the com. He considers the dead-letter office, considers Budd, and that thing the crazy, old man at the fundraiser said; Language is humanity's lifeline. The door chimes when she arrives, and he looks at her while she approaches, then gets up and stands in front of her. Her chest rises and falls and she looks at him steadily, something softly demanding on her face.

“You should’ve told me.”

He nods.

“Yes. I should’ve told you a lot.”

She looks down and he follows her gaze. She holds out her hand and he grabs hold of it stroking its’ back with his thumb. They stand like that for a minute.

“I should go.”

She nods.

“See you later.”

Luke helps him move the car. He returns the favor by working at the diner. He stays close when Liz tumbles in with her jewelry, and makes a point of saying he likes it which makes the entire transition more smooth. Here’s the thing; He has no idea of how to do right with his mother on some objective scale, isn’t even sure he wants to, but knows that things between them would be much worse if it weren’t for Luke stepping in at various instances during the years. Luke and Liz sustaining a relationship is ultimately a good thing for all of them. He can help with that at least.

 

“Oh, I'm so sorry, sugar. Here I am, going on and on about Jess.”

“It’s okay, Babette.” 

By now it really is, but she won’t say she’s fine. Neither will Lorelai. Her mother seems lost in thought and has since this morning.

“I saw him at Weston’s.”

Lorelai turns to her, question in her eyes.

“We were civil.”

“That’s nice.” Babette says, then: “You’re not still stuck on him, are you, honey?”

“I haven’t thought about it like that to be honest.” She says, not lying and leaving it at that.

Babette turns to Lorelai.

“You alright there, doll? You’re unusually quiet.”

Lorelai jerks at being addressed directly.

“I got a lot to think about.”

“You wanna talk about it? Let me just get the marshmallows.”

Rory gets up with Babette and pats Lorelai on the head.

“Good. You talk. I gotta hit the bookstore.”

And with that she’s out the door. She steps into the bookstore a little while later and finds him in his aisle reading The Laws of Change. 

“Helping yourself?” She smiles.

“Successfully?” He sighs.

She sits down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Just a year ago I couldn’t imagine anything worse than the world just moving on without me.” He mumbles. “Now I’m thinking this is just as bad, being the only one changing.”

She has no response. She just places an arm across his body and he puts one around her shoulders. He speaks again.

“I just don’t see that we have any other choice.”

“Me neither.” She mumbles into his hoodie. Adding: “You’re not the only one though.”

He turns his head to hers and smiles a little.

“I know. It’s the only reason I haven’t lost my mind.” He leans his head on hers. “How’s it going with your mom?”

“One small step. And I guess I’ll have to take it again tomorrow.”

“At least it’s not one step ahead, two backwards, like in the real world.”

They sit like that, silently for as long as they can justify.

“I should go.”

“Later?”

“Festival?”

“Yes.”

In the car to the fundraiser she and Lorelai are quiet for a long while.

“It’s that we always felt the same about things.” Lorelai says, suddenly, prompting Rory to turn and look at her. “It’s less about him. It’s that I couldn’t see what you saw, and you couldn’t see what I saw, it was just suddenly so clear that…” She trails off.

“That we’re different people.” Rory finishes.

“That we’re mother and daughter.” Lorelai adds.

“That’s not so bad.” Rory says, and takes her mother’s hand.

The fundraiser starts, and Rory makes an effort to talk to Marjorie and Shawna leaving Lorelai and Jason to enjoy their neurotic verbal dance. Then, after the speaker is done:

“I don’t get it.”

“Nothing to get.” She answers. “It’s a bad joke. The Ephram Wordus Rare Manuscript Acquisition Foundation makes no particular difference when it comes to us rooting around Nag Hammadi or not, there are plenty of foundations who have more relevant assortments of manuscripts.”

“How do you know that?”

“Obscure Manuscript Humor 101.”

“Knew that fancy school of yours was paying off.”

Things are basically back to normal in the car to Stars Hollow. They park at their house and head into town.

“Stuck with the rolling pins. So boring!”

“Actually, Marjorie went to Sarah Lawrence and Shawna’s native to Las Vegas and where her mother was a Showgirl in the seventies, she visited New York City when she was a teenager and moved here to be an east coaster.”

Lorelai stares at her.

“They were just out of their dept.” Rory continues. “You know how scary Emily can be.”

“Well, I guess we should’ve taken Marjorie and Shawna with us to the Firelight Festival. It all seems so empty now. We’ll need comfort food. Burgers?”

“Later? I’m gonna see if I can find Jess.”

Lorelai stiffens for a second. Then she puts and arm around Rory and squeezes.

“God, that’s odd. But fine. I’ll get the burgers and see you at home in a while.”

Rory pecks Lorelai’s cheek, and heads towards the bonfire. She finds Jess a due distance from the Danes clan and approaches him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She stands next to him, watching the fire. Their hands brush against each other and he anchors his index finger to hers.

“You okay?” He asks.

“I’m tired. But I don’t want the day to end.”

“Right.” He says.

He sighs and speaks again, voice low, obviously aiming to comfort her.

“We could strategize some more next time if you like. We never did finish testing the repetition-thing completely, and I guess we should try again at some point. Commit to it-”

She entwines her fingers with his while he speaks.

“-just, y’know, whatever you think is a good idea-”

“I love you.” She says.

He stops talking and turns his face sharply to her. She meets his eyes. They look at each other for a few seconds. He looks helpless, she thinks, like he can’t decide between emotions, or find words, he always makes that last part seem deliberate. Not now. She feels spent, but still strong somehow. She turns back to the fire.

“I think you should know.” She says. “And I really should say it.”

He squeezes her hand, strokes his thumb over its’ back, quickly. 

“You wanna go somewhere?” He asks, hoarsely.

“Yes. Do we have somewhere to go?”

He chuckles.

“Not really. My car is at Gypsy’s, and I’m pretty sure Luke would throw a fit if I took you to the diner.”

“And my mom would definitely not be happy if we went to my place, try as she might to be the coolest.”

“So I guess we stay.”

“I guess.”

She looks around the crowd. Most of the people there are busy with their own stuff, but a few stray glances land on them standing so close. She doesn’t care about that now though, this isn’t the day for it.

“You’re gonna have to hold me for a bit.” She says.

“Okay.”

He loosens his hand and puts his arm around her shoulders, she puts hers around his waist.

“If there was a tomorrow, what would you do?” She asks after a while.

He takes a breath.

“I’d get up right away and get the diner going. And then I’d ask Luke to help me, lend me the money to fix my stupid car, and apologize that I just tried to take it. And I’d thank him for what he tried to do before. Then I’d find you and kiss you, be with you, and-”

There’s a pause, and she sort of knows what it contains; He’d leave. Get to wake up someplace different than Stars Hollow. 

“That’s as far as I want to think.” He says. “What would you do?”

If she ever gets out of here she wants to be someone who cuts herself more slack, lets herself fall in, be in, make love, make mistakes, take something for herself. But time is gonna have to start moving again for that to happen. She answers anyway, seems fair. 

“I’d tell my mom how I felt, about everything. And then I’d lie to her face. Make up some excuse to be alone with you, and see how you felt about ridding me of this pesky virginity-”

His laughs unsteadily on an exhale. She goes on.

”-just because I want it.” She takes a breath. “And then I guess I’d let you go, even if it would hurt, as long as you said a proper goodbye to me.” 

She’s silent, staring at the fire. There’s a spot on his jacket, right near the lower hem under his arm that’s really smooth, she runs her thumb over it. He folds her inward, to the front of his body, putting both arms around her.

“That’d be something.” She mumbles against his shoulder.

“Quite a day.” He answers after a few moments, voice thick.

“I wish it could happen.” She says, wistful song in her words.

“Me too.” He approbates.

They fall silent, let the words stay between them, slowly evaporate in the heat from the fire and their bodies. The fire burns and they watch it. 

 

#  **I**

He wakes from a strange sound, from someone moving, and he sits up in a flash. There are sounds coming from the bathroom which incidentally is too far away from his mattress. Holy shit. Luke exits the bathroom and stops in his tracks when seeing him, or apparently his expression. 

“What?”

He stares at his uncle. 

“A bit disoriented are you?” Luke puts on his cap. “You’re in Stars Hollow, in the apartment above Luke’s diner, it’s Sunday, and-” He glances at his watch. “-eight am, I know, I know, I blame the punch, but I’m up and I’m gonna open up downstairs now.”

He just gapes at him.

“I was gonna ask you to help out.” Luke goes on. ”But you seem a little out of it-”

“I’ll help.”

“You’re sure?”

“Be down in a minute.”

Luke leaves the apartment and Jess gets up. He runs to the window. The sky is grey, white really, his car is nowhere to be seen, the square is ridden with decorations from the Firelight Festival. He opens the window, the air is cold, smells of burnt wood and immediately starts hauling the warmth out of the room. He closes it, turns around and looks at the apartment: there really is a mattress, his clothes where he put them after the festival last night. Woah. Dangerous words; last night. 

He pulls on his pants, hoodie, and hurries downstairs. Luke is in the kitchen prepping, coffee hisses in the machine. He throws himself into work, pulls down all the chairs as quickly as he’s ever done it. Caesar enters the diner and says hello, Luke dodges out of the way when he heads into the kitchen. Jess grabs his jacket and pulls it on. Luke looks at him.

“I thought you were-” He starts.

“I’ll be back later but I gotta go do something now.” Jess says in response.

He’s halfway out of there already, but stops and looks at Luke properly. 

“And I wanted to ask for your help paying for the reparations on the car, pretty sure Gypsy’s gonna over-charge me like I’ve never been over-charged before.”

“Yeah, well, she says that to all the boys. Don’t go thinking you’re special.”

Jess laughs. 

“Of course I’ll help you.” Luke adds.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“When you can.”

“As soon as I can.”

He’s out the door, walking, picks up his pace. The remnants of the bonfire is being cleaned up extremely ineffectively by Kirk, Joe and a few others. The stands and all carts, kiosks, and cart/kiosks are being towed away in different manners. Taylor oversees the spectacle from the sidewalk outside of Doose’s, having taken over the responsibility of the com, micromanaging over it. Gypsy is working on his car and glares reassuringly at him when he passes her. 

He realizes he can leave, and there’s a wild, desperate feel of freedom rippling through his chest. He reaches the end of the square and it starts snowing. He stops, looks up. The sky is as white as the snow falling, the flakes come out of nowhere, takes you by surprise. 

Then there’s another tug in him, and it’s not pulling him away. He’s overtaken by a sharp, bitter, but ultimately humbling gratefulness to this stupid place which has kept him, twisted his arm, forced him to stay put, and he has to admit that it is the only place besides New York he’s ever returned to voluntarily. So, somehow, Gary gets to be right. He smiles and shakes his head. Unreal. The people he loves are here, will be found here, stubbornly. So he loves it too, because coming here means he gets to be with them. 

He was always going to come back here. Without coercion but willingly, longingly. 

He starts running.

 

It’s cold. But not in the right way. Something is wrong. She sits up and reaches for her cardigan, it’s on the chair by the window, not on her bedside table. Her heartbeat picks up. There’s a stillness in the air, something that usually excites her mother. She gets up and hurries out of her room. The couch is empty. The window is a plywood board. Her gasp makes ripples in the silence of the house. She opens the door and her skin prickles under the thin pyjamas. The air smells like distant fire. Because there’s been one. Yesterday. And that smell travels further when the temperature is freezing. Instantly tears fill her eyes and she laughs on an exhale. There are hasty steps approaching and Jess appears in their driveway. They stare at each other, eyes equally wide. And the air is filled with something. 

“It’s snowing.” He pants, out of breath from running.

“No way!” She exclaims.

She smiles broadly, and is down from the porch in seconds, bare feet in the frozen grass. He intercepts her halfway and lifts her from the ground in an unsteady embrace. He laughs, and she stifles a shriek of joy into his neck.

“It’s Sunday!” He shakes her with the syllables.

“No way!” She laughs. 

Then she freezes in his arms, nervous.

“What did we do right?”

He pulls back and stares at her for a second. Then he kisses her, like he said he would and she forgets she asked. His nose is cold against her cheek, and his hands move from her waist to her neck and head to hold her in place. She holds onto his shoulders for support, balancing on her toes to avoid the cold ground, responding in a way that makes the kiss count, that finally makes a difference.

“My feet are so cold.” She mumbles into his mouth. “I’m so happy.”

He lifts her slightly and amples towards the porch.

“Down.” He says and she puts down her feet to the just barely less cold wood. She takes a step backwards, up the stairs and looks at him standing below. Her heart pounds wildly, and then there’s stillness even in that.

“Your hair is getting long.” She says, in wonder, lips trembling, dragging her fingers through his hair to the side.

He smiles.

“I know, it’s a mess.”

“You should let it grow.”

She hears her mother’s voice from inside the house chirping about how she smells snow, and she just makes it into the hallway before Lorelai practically skips in there too and then stops promptly at the sight of her, the open door and Jess, still standing on the porch, cheeks sort of rosy and hair flattened by the snow.

“Hi.” She says, and Rory thinks she manages a good tone, not too stiff, nor too cheery.

“Hi.” He responds, leaning between his feet. “Sorry I’m so early, I just wanted to make sure I caught Rory before she went back to school.”

“Right.” Lorelai says. “You guys have some stuff to talk about, huh?”

“Yes.”

Lorelai looks between them.

“Well, I’m gonna get out of your way.”

Rory looks at her, surprised, but utterly grateful.

“I’m thinking breakfast at Luke’s and then maybe I go see Jason.”

“Great.” Rory says.

“I’ll keep you posted.” Lorelai says. “But come in and shut the door, will ya? I may love the snow but I’ve had enough of cold houses to last me a lifetime.” 

With that she goes upstairs to change and leaves them standing in the hallway.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. She wants to kiss him again and steps closer before deciding against it, Lorelai hears like a bat, it’s better if they actually talk.

“What are we talking about?” She says jokingly.

“What?”

“You told my mom we had things to talk about, what do you have to say to me?”

She’s only kidding, thinking it was just an excuse, but then he starts talking. He takes her hand and tells her about California, about Jimmy, and Sasha, and Lily, the boardwalk, how he wouldn’t have minded staying if Jimmy would’ve let him, how he’s sort of relieved that he didn’t, how he’s afraid he would’ve turned into one of Sasha’s strays, hopeless cases, if he had. How he doesn’t have that option anymore. How he made his way back, started talking to his mother again, because he was desperate. How he wound up back here, how he would’ve kept running if he’d been let go. He strokes her fingers and she shivers. He says he doesn’t have those options anymore either; staying, barely hanging on, or running, he’s going to have to make something of himself now, even if he doesn’t know what, or how. He speaks lowly, quickly, to get it all out, or to tell her before Lorelai returns, and she listens, stunned to hear his voice speak about those things, hear him be openly lost but determined to not stay that way, speak like there’s a tomorrow.   

Lorelai comes charging down the stairs, kisses Rory on the cheek and waves to Jess.

“See ya.”

She slams the door behind her and Rory walks into the living room, looking through the window, following her mother with her eyes. Jess comes and stands next to her, waiting until her mother drives off. The Jeep disappears around the corner. 

She turns around and kisses him and they don’t stop. With every kiss, caress, she feels her idea of the day to come crumble to less and less, until the two of them are the only thing left.

 

The room is still cold, but everything’s different. A broken window leaves things behind, even after it’s mended, and none of the house’s radiators have been adjusted to accommodate the freezing temperatures outside. But her blanket is warm, and she’s finding out there’s nothing quite like naked skin to help keep warm. His hair is thick and a bit moist at the temples, in the back of his neck where her fingers hold onto him, twirls around what they can get a grip of. It feels like falling, she thinks, despite being on her back in her own bed, like her body absolutely cannot contain the tide that she’s becoming. It even sounds like waves, their breaths, crashing, feels like it, rocking. His voice a gale as he whispers he loves her. She laughs silently on an exhale midst the pain and pleasure. She’s lost track of time. It might have been an hour, but she has no way of knowing because so much has happened, it feels like a day, at least, whatever that means anymore. It’s light out, that’s something. She’d be scared that her concept of time is once more extremely relative if it wasn’t so good. His grip on her hardens, and she makes sounds without meaning to, while her body attempts to turn itself inside out, spill over the edges of her bed. He kisses her and his voice vibrates in her throat, chest. Then it’s like floating, safely. She feels like crying to let the amount of everything, but settles for a few clean notes in her breaths instead, for kissing his lips, his cheek, chin and neck while they still, while she regains sense of her body again, it’s reasonable ends and beginnings, of weight and gravitational law, of him against, inside her.

“Wow.” She breathes, a semi-word.

“Told you.”

She starts laughing again and can’t stop. He rolls off her to the side getting rid of the condom, then pulls at the blanket so it covers the both of them. She leans on his arm, hand on his chest which rises and falls with decreasing speed.

”Funny.” He mumbles between breaths, lips moving against her temple. “Right now I wouldn’t mind time stopping.”

She gasps, pinches him and shakes her head.

”You’re bad news.” 

She’s quiet for a few moments, then adds:

”But yeah, I wouldn’t mind repeating that.”

His body shakes in a laugh, turns towards her, stroking her cheek, down her neck and shoulder.

”No need to get drastic, just give me fifteen minutes.”

He leans over and pins her down kissing her. She returns the kisses, and then she remembers. She pulls their mouths apart and leans her forehead to his instead.

”And then I guess I have to let you go.” She says, chest aching

He’s serious at once. He puts his hands to her face. 

“The first thing I’m gonna do is get a phone and the second thing I’m gonna do is call you.” 

“And I’m gonna trust you to.”

“You should. I’m not the most conventional guy but I still think you should have your boyfriend’s phone number.”

She can’t keep from smiling, such a puny but precise word.

“Boyfriend?”

He stays earnest.

“Call me what you want. I’m yours.”

He kisses her and pulls back looking at her. They stay that way a while.

“We get to miss each other.” She says.

“We get to miss each other.” He repeats. 

She smiles, and the tightness in her chest eases some.

Fifteen minutes or so passes and she gets her second time ever. He stubbornly ignores the watch until he can’t and then has to get back to Luke’s. She goes with him and stays close, keeping their hands clasped together, can’t let go. Luke looks at them with kind of a funny expression, but she thinks she looks too happy for him to worry. Happy, though... It’s the strangest thing, her heart already aches, knowing what’s to come, but it’s not unlike what she felt back in her bed; release from it being released, that it doesn’t need to be contained, it can happen, and end, and then happen again, and she gets to feel it, breathe through it, and come out on the other side, do it again.

They go to get his car, parks it by Luke’s and goes inside, huddles by a table at the diner for hours, with books, to sometimes be read but mostly politely ignored, a reason to sit there and play footsie under the table, to kiss when Luke isn’t looking. All the while it gets dark outside, and Jess only breaks away now and then to help his uncle. Lorelai calls from home and she has to go, has to gather her things, has to get in a car of her own and go back to Yale. 

This time he follows her. It’s getting dark. It’s stopped snowing, it won’t stay. He waits on the porch while she says goodbye to her mother. It takes a while, she has to tell Lorelai about Yale and that she’s dropping something, even if she hasn’t decided what yet, that she’s leaving something behind, and maybe it’s more than just a course. Lorelai seems to think it’s a good idea, but is, perhaps to be expected, more unnerved and a bit distracted by Jess waiting outside. Rory doesn’t address it. Saves it for later. Keeps it for herself for now, just to keep it hers. She smiles internally at how worried she’s been about telling the truth about Yale, how she’s had no reason for it when it comes to Lorelai. 

She thinks it’s almost humorous that one and the same feeling; the one of continuation, of things moving forward, can make her feel so scattered; She’s at the edge of an abyss, knows that somehow she’ll get across, one step at the time, one leap. She excited and terrified and absolutely wants it, she knows what the alternative is. She loads up the car.

“What do you think the point was?” She asks him.

He bites his lip.

“Honestly? I don’t dare to speculate. I’m gonna go with this, right here.”

She laughs helplessly. He steps in close, whispers:

“I will be back. Do you think i could ever stay away?”

She puts her mouth to his and he has to speak between kisses, get it out between their lips. 

“I’ll surprise you. Before you know it. One day. I’ll be waiting for you after a lecture. You’ll come out and there I’ll be. And you can surprise me too.”

They hold each other for a while, she can’t tell how long. But then, there it is, she’s ready. She takes a tiny step back, looks at their feet.

“Bye Jess.” It comes out as a whisper.

He tilts his head making eye contact, pulling her face up by it.

“Bye Rory.” 

The words are distinctly spoken, and he leans his forehead to hers. There’s a tug between the two of them and she breaks free from it before it wins and they have to start all over again. She smiles at him. Bravely.

“I get to leave first.” She says, gets into her car and drives away. 


End file.
